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A 

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CANADA 


NATIONAL  LIBRARY 
BIBLIOTHÈQUE  NATIONALE 


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POPULAR   NOVEL8 

BY  MAY  AGNES  FLEMING. 

I.—GUV  EARLSCOURT'S  wIfE.  X" 

2.^A  WONWCKFUL  WOMAN. 
3.— A  TERRIBLE  SECRET.     ,  , 

4.>*rNORINE'S  REVENGE.  '     '  \  ^ 

5. — A  MAD   MARRIAGE.  \"* 

6.— ONE  NIGHTS  MYSTERY. 
7-— KATE  DANTON. 
8.-r-SILENT  AND  TRUE. 
9- — HEIR  OF  CHARLTON. 
10. — CARRIED  BY  STORM. 
'  1 1,— LOST  FOR  A  WOMÂN. 
12. — A  WIFE'S  TRAGEDY. 
•      13-— A  CHANGF.D  HEART. 
14. — l'KIDE  AND  PASSION. 
15.— SHAkING  HER  CRIME. 
l6. — A  WRONGED  WIFE. 
17.— MAUDE  PERCV'S  SECRET. 
,  18. — THE  ACTRESS' DAUGHTER. 
19.— THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 
20. — THE  MIDNIGHT  QUEEN. 
,    21.— EDITH  PERCIVAL  {New). 

"îl"'  .^''ora'nK's  8torie8  are  jfrowlng  more  and  more 

life-Uko    convereutloiie.   flasbes   of    wit.   con- 

Btaiilly  vuryiiiK  Buoiics,  aud  deeply  Intereat- 

lug  ploU,  coiiibine  to  place  theli? 

autbor  In  tlie  very  flrstrank 

of  Modem  Novellsts." 

Ail  publlsliod  unifonn  wlth  thls  volume.    Priée.  SI  60 
each,  and  sent  fne  by  mail  on  recelpt,  of  pri^  by 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM,  I»ubUsher 

Successor  to  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  N.  Y.  * 


,;^-^i'"v,v-i' 


/ 


SILENT  AND^TRUE 


«nu 


A    LITTLE    QUEEfi 


3^  iavd. 


^\ 


MAY  AGNES  FLEMING, 

AirmcMi  or 
•OOT  «A.XJKXHJRT'S  WIFE."  "a  WONDKRFUL  WOMAN  »  «A  T>..». 

..c«T."  ..Ho„^..,  „,.,„%.  .^  ,,T:;^^:r'' 

"OMB  NIOHT'S  MYSTBRY,"   |T& 


/^ 


'H*  «<MM  hav* 


^ 


WAamiNnpM 


■  NEW      YORK: 

'    G,    ÎV.    Dillingham,   PubltsheM, 

^"c^^ssoR  To  G.  W:  Carleton  &  co!-^= 

LONDON  :     &    LOW,    SON   &   CO.  - 

MDcrrijcxxviii. 


^ 


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.,.. .( 


5  . 
OtmucHT,  1877,  nr 

<ft  W.  CARLBTON  A  Oa 


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CONTENTS 


--jr. 


fer  Steamer  Heiptria. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Longworth  of  the /»Am» jç 

CHAPTER  IV. 
TlieStOTyoftheStoneHoase ^ 

*«,       ,„  CHAPTER  V. 

A  Point  of  Honor ^ 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Grandmamma'i  Granddaughtera P, &t 

m,      «„  .  CHAPTER  X  VII. 

Mn.  Windsor  at  Home g, 

__^_  CHAPTER  VIII. 

o^on ^ ^ 

M-K»        /^u«  CHAPTER  IX. 

Nobleue  Oblige „. 

^.^  CHAPTER  X. 

^«" 139 

^.    ,^      ■       CHAPTER  XI. . 
Longworth's  Idyl ,„ 

r.  .s    .    ^        1  CHAPTER  XII. 

Délicate  Ground ,^3 

„  .     ^    ^  :    CHAPTER  XIIL 

"AstbeQueen  Wills". gj^ 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
TVe  Embarrassment  of  Riches g^ 

CHAPTER  XV. 
J*37  ftg  Sgcct  SilYcr  Ligfat  of  the  Moon  V-,-^^-,^^-, -^^- 

M  ^    „r  CHAPTER  XVI. 

•*  The  Wooing  O't  " „. 

t 


.1 

*®  CO/fTSNrS. 

..*i^«       «              CHAPTER  XVII.  '    ^ 

TfceVeryBeitThinginalltheWotM».     ^J 

'  suent  «d  True-     ^"APTER  XIX.         ^^^ 

«57 

..  T   K.  «„                   CHAPTER  XX. 
To  be  Wise,  ud  Love,  Exceeds  Man's  Strength  " tjo 

"TheRlvd." CHAPTER  XXL 

« sta 

«nn.    ».                     CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Rivais"— On  the  Stage  and  Off. -^c 

BytheG.rfenWàll..'^"^"^^™"- 

• j«y 

MIghtfen.  CHAPTER  XXIV. 

•••  33a 

VwolntheMorning.':"^':"^.:^:  „,  ^ 

AnotherDay  ..          ^'"^^™  ^^L  "^       '■'*•;,'*  ^ 
• 354 

Reine'.Knlght '^^:'^^.'°'^.''\,, 

Marie  Speak.  CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

• 386 

O'Sunivan  Speak.      ""^^^^  ^'^ 

¥H 

^^  CHAPTER    XXX. 

WithEmptiedAnnsandTreasureLost", ^„ 

Dur«id  CHAPTER  XXXL 

• 43» 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 
"AAer  Long  Grief  and  Pain" 

^— ^__^ CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A  F oregone  Conclusion 


-\,- 


^^^:x..'\ . 


»  \ 


A    LiTTLE    QUEEN 


CHAPTER  I. 


PKR  STKAMBR  HKSPUUA. 

[T  is  a  May  day.  If  we  did  not  take  our  weatfaei 
on  trust  and  tradition,  as  we  take  so  many  things, 
we  would  certainly  never  find  it  out  for  ours«lves. 

Dropping.  d<^wn  on  the  dock,  amid  the  shivering  throng 
jf  passengers,  from  some  other  planet,  let  us  say,  we  niight 
easily  conclude  we  had  alighted  in  the  raiddle  of  March,  so 
gusty,  so  bleak,  so  chill  is  this  May  morning. 

The  Canard  steamer  will  float  away  down  the  Mersey 
in  «omething  less  than  an  hour,  the  little  fussy,  puffin*  ten 
der  is  already  waiting  for  her  passagers  and  luggage,  and 
snorting  fiercely,  as  though  in  fiery  impatience  to  be  oflF. 
There  is  the  customary  crowd,  cabmen  haggling  over  fares, 
iwrters  shouldering  trunks  and  boxes,  passengers  hurrying 
wildly  hither  and  thither,  or  mounting  guard  over  their 
belongings,  shrill  voices  of  iforaen,  deeper  tones  of  men, 
and  now  and  then,  in  base  gro^ls,  some  of  the  strong  worda 
in  which  the  nobler  sex  are  wont  to  relieve  *heir  manly 
niinds. 

=^  WwBeafl   tnefc  u  a  dark,  nasts^ruting  sk)'^~ 


«nything  but  a  pleasant  first  night  on  the  océan,  and  outside 
Aère  is  an  ominous  short-rhop,  and  littlf.  wicked  white  capr 


*!»  f      1 


/       ■■.■•.  ■    ■■■ 


lO 


PBk  STEAMER  MES  PERI  A. 


breakmg  the  ttirbid  fluv»  of  the  river.  And  aU  around 
from  every  quartei  pf  thecwr.ipas3  at  once,  there  corne  gud- 
den  I4eak  blasi»  that  cniJI  to  the  marrow  of  your  bonea,  and 
•et  you  shivering  and  make  you  wrap  your  great  coa»  di 
•aterproof  about  your  shrinking  forni  hever  so  closely 

Standmg  a  little  apart,  if  there  be  any  aport  in  ihjs  mad 
Ung  crowd,  leaning  easily  against  the  back  of  a  cab,  hi» 
hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets,  an  amused  lock  in  his 
face,  is  a  young  man.  A  solitary  large  trunk  beside  hini, 
beanng on  its  canvas  back  the  big  black  initiais  "F.  D./' 
is  evidently  his  only  property  ;  a  very  large  and  luraberii 
Newfoundland  is  evidently  his  only  companion. 

He  is  a  tall,  strongly-built,  square-shouldered  young  fel- 
low,  of  perhaps  three-and-twenty,  his  beardiess  face  not  in 
the  sl^htest  degree  handsorae  except  with  the  good  looki 
that  three-and-twenty  years'  perfect  health,  boundless  good- 
humor,  and  a  certain  boyish  brightness  gives.  He  is  sun- 
bumedand  ruddy,  he  is  buttoned  up  in  a  shaggy  overcoat, 
and  M  taking  life  at  présent  with  a  perfect  coolness  that  u 
refreshingcontrasted  with  the  wild  excitement  depicted  on 
«nost  of  the  faces  around  him. 

Frtgmentsof  flurried  conversation  reach  hira  on  ail  sidei 
as  he  stands,  but  he  pays  n(  particular  heed  to  any,  until  a 
girl's  voice,  fresh  and  clear,  but  in  accents  of  misery,  reaches 
hi8  ear. 

'^Mon  Dieu/  Marie!"  cries  this  despairing  voice,  in  a 
composite  mixture  of  French  and  English,  "  if  tliat  imbecUe 
has  not  carried  off  my  box  again.  Hère,  you  !  "  a  frantic  lit- 
Ue  stamp  ;  "  drop  that  directly.  It  is  mine,  I  tell  you.  I  told 
fOU  before,  stupide  /    Que  devons— nous  faire^  Marie » 

A  fcoft  laugh  is  the  answer.  The  young  man  tums  round, 
»nd  see  two  young  ladies  and  a  porter.  One  of  the  yovag 
ladies  is  seated  quietly  on  a' black  box,  the  other  is  standins 


«crtedly,  trymg  to  prevent  ihê^rter  ftom  ca^f^ogWl 
•imilar  article  of  luggage,  and  tr)-ing  in  vain. 


PEtt  STEAMER  ffESPERIA. 


Il 


The  ownei  of  (he  dog,  with  the  impetuosity  of  threednd 
Iwenty,  inuUnMy  cornes  to  the  rescue  of  beauty  in  distress. 

"  Hi  I  I  aay  you  1  drop  that,  will  you,"  he  cries,  authori 
tatirely,  and  the  porter  yields  at  once  to  the  imperious  mas 
culine  voice  what  he  has  scorned  to  yield  to  the  frantic  fem 
inkie.  "  Don't  you  want  your  luggage  taken  on  board  ihf 
tehdet  ?  "  inquires  the  young  American  gentleman,  for  sucL 
his  accent  proclaims  him  to  be,  lifting  his  hat  to  the  young 
person  who  stands,  and  appears  so  greatly  exercised  over  thd 
bte  of  the  black  box. 

"Jhanks,  monsieur,"  responds  the  young  lady  who  has 
been  talking  Fren^>,  in  perfect  English,  but  with  a  musical 
accent,  "  this  is  the  second  time  that  stupid  man  has  tried  to 
carry  it  ofif  whether  or  no.  Oh,  yes,  we  want  our  luggage  to 
go  on  board,  but  the  captain,  our  very  good  friend,  has  told 
us  to  wait  hère  until  he  cornes." 

"  I  see  him  coming  now,"  says  the  second  young  lady,  whc 
has  a  rery  sweet  voice  and  much  fainter  accent  than  the  firsL  ' 
*'  Look  yonder.  Petite.    Ah  !  he  has  stopped  to  speak  to  the 
itout  Iady>  but  he  is  coming  for  us." 

"Small  black  box,  l^tçge  black  box,  one  portmanteau,  a 
bag,  and  a  bonnet-box,"  says  the  first,  rapidly  and  concisely 
taking  the  inventory  of  her  belongings.  "  Yes,  everything  is 
hère.  Ma  foi,  how  I  wish  we  were  on  board,  and  out  of  tliit 
jostling,  noisy  throng." 

-  *^es,  it  is  very  cold,"  replies  the  young  lady  called  Marie^ 
aiid  she  draws  a  large  shawl  she  wears  clofe'  about  her,  anô 
shivers  in  tfae  raw  wirtd. 

Hiey  are  dressed  alike,  in  traveling  su(ts  of  dark  gr»} 
tweed,  and  are  apparently  sisters.  Monsieur  <^  F.  D.,"  resum- 
ing  his  eaCsy  jx>sition  against  the  back  of  the  cab,  looks  at 
tfaem  critically,  and  on  the  whole  approvingly,  while  they  wail 
"fct  4êir  vêiy^poôï^énd,  tfiê  capïMD.  Hë  «mlbok  witl.^ 
perfect  ease,  for  they  are  not  looking  at  him,  hâve  apparent 
If  Coi|  }tten       proximity  and  existence.     The  one  addresscii 


A\'- 


"*■* 


13 


/•A^  STFAMER  ffSSPElUA 


»8  Mane  mterests  him  most,  for  the^ood  reascn  tlut  hv  çan 
not  see  hter,  so  thick  is  the  niask  of  black  Ucc  she  •-an 
strapped  across  her  hat  and  face.     But  the  voice  is  peculiari, 
iweet,  the  braided  hair  nnder  the  hatis  a  lovely  gold  bronze, 
and  the  form  is  so  shàpely,  so  graceful,  that  even  the  heav, 
disguising  shawl  cannot  wholly  conceal  it     She  stands  ap 
presently  and  he  sees  thaï  she  is  tall-divînely  tall,  he  savi 
to  himself,  and  no  doubt  di^inely  fair      In  a  gênerai  way  he 
approves  of  tall,  fair  young  women.     The  other  is  a  littie 
pereon,  about  eighteen,  perhaps,  with  a  dark  olive  face,  and 
mth  no  espeaal  daim  to  beauty,  except  the  claim  of  two 
large  bnlliant  brown  eyes.     Even  if  he  had  not  heard  her 
•peak,  he  would  hâve  set  her  down  a&.a  French  girl— her 
nationality  is  patent  in  her  face. 

The  captain,  brown-faced,  burly,  and  génial,  makes  hiswaj 
to  where  they  await  him,  with  some  difficulty,  for  friends  be- 
•legfe  him  on  àH  sides. 

«Well,  my  littie  ladies,"  is  his  greeting,  -ready,  are  you, 
and  waitmg  ?  Hère,  my  man  !  "  A  porter  approaches,  and 
tpuches  his  cap.  "  Bear  a  hand  hère,  with  thèse  bags  and 
boxes,  and  look  sharp.  Now,  young  ladies,"  hère  he  pré- 
sents an  elbow  to  the  right  and  left,  «'  V\\  take  you  under 
my  wmg,  and  consign  you  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
tender." 

It  is  a  mild  joke,  but  he  laughs  at  it,  and  goes  off  with  hi,' 
fau-  freight.  The  owner  of  the  «weet  voice  never  looked 
back,  but  the  owner  of  the  pretty  dark  eyes  casts  one  fare- 
well  glance  and  slight  smile  backwardto  the  gentleman  who 
came  to  the  rescue  of  tV  black  box.  Mr.  «F  D  »  lifts  hii 
hat,  sees  them  vanish,  and  busies  hi.nself,  for  the  first  time. 
about  his  dog  and  his  trunk. 

Presently-they  are  ail  on  board  the  tender,  and  puffing 
down  the  stream  to  where.  .big,  and  quiet,  and  powerfulT^e 
H^riMiraitsherpassengers.     The  niimbèf  B  V^^lSië^^^ 
Ihere  u  hardly  itaading  room  on  the  litige  tender's  deck     lî 


14.  '  J 


iV*   STEAMER  .'IRSPRRtA. 


U 


il  rougu,  and  raw,^and  co.d,  and  supremely  mit  :jaûle.  To 
make  matters  worse,  a  drizzling^  rain  begins  to  iall,  and  um 
brellas  are  unfurled,  and  ladies  crouch  under  such  shelter  ai 
they  can  find,  and  everybody  looks  blue,  and  sea-sick  by  an- 
ticipation, and  most  utterly  wretched. 

The  Newfoundland  and  his  master  hoist  no  umbrellasj 
they  stand  and  look,  on  the  whole,  as  if  they  rathcr  enjoyed 
the  tniseiy  of  those  about  them,  and  were  perfectly  wariu 
and  cozy  and  comfortable  theniselves.      The  young  nian 
looks  about  him  for  the  dark  eyes,  and  the  tall,  ilîght,  grace- 
fiil  figure  ;  but  the  çj^Tâii^as  stowed  them  away  somewherc, 
and  he  speedily  forgets  tHera,  and  is  sufficiently  amused  by 
dierest.    Then  they  are  on  board,  and  he  gets  one  morei 
glimpse  of  «my  little  ladies,"  as,  wing-and-wing  with  the  cap- 
tain,  they  go  to  the  cabin.     Only  a  glimpse,  for  he  has  his 
own  cabin  to  look  after,  and  his  dog  to  consign  to  the  proper 
authorities.    And  then  a  gun  fires,  and  there  is  a  parting 
^eer  from  the  tender,  and  Liverpool  lies  behind  them  and.. 
Ihe  wide  Atlantic  before. 

Luncheon  hour  arrives,  art^  as  no  one  has  had  tirae  to  be* 
corne  sea-sick,  there  is  a  ruslr  for  the  long  saloon,  Among 
tlieiu  is  the  owner  of  the  dôg,  whose  appetite,  afloat  or 
ashore,  is  ail  that  the  appetite  of  hearty,  hungry  three-and- 
twenty  should  be.  As  he  carve^  his  chicken,  he  glancei 
•bout  for  the  owner  of  the  veiled  face— a  pretty  face,  he  has 
made  up  his  mind— but  she  is  not  there,  The  othcr  is,  how- 
cver,  seated  near  her  good  friend,  the\captain,  still  wearinc 
hat  and  jacket,  and  herinterest  apparenUy  pretty  ec^uallydi- 
Tided  between  the  contents  of  her  plate  and  the  men  and 
women  around  her.  She  catches  the  eye  of  the  préserver  of 
ner  box,  and  siniles  a  frank  récognition— so  frank,  indeed, 
that  when  they  rise,  he  feels  warranted  in  approsching  and 

'ressing  her. 


"  Are  you  coming  on  deck  ?  '  he  asks,  rather  eagerly. 
She  il  VIA  precisely  pretty,  but  she  is  snffidently  attracliv»  î# 


f-i 


V-,   ;'.« 


»4 


nUt  STEAMER  HESPERIA. 


r 


"But  it  is  raining,  monsieur,-  «he'says,  hesitaiingly. 

5he  accepts  his  advances  with  the  unconventional  readi- 
ûMs  with  which  people  ignore  introductions  and  talk  to 
one  another  on  shipboard.  She  has  ail  the  ease  of  manner 
of  one  who  has  travcled  a  good  deal,  as  Mr.  «F  D  • 
i^^and  bears  aboUt  her  unmistakably  the  stamp  of  "  the 

;•  It  ^as  ceased  raining  ;  it  was  nothing  but  a  passing  drift. 
It  is  qmte  pleasant  on  deck  now." 
"  Not  cold  nor  rough  ?  »  she  asks,  dubiously. 
Not  at  aUcold,  he  assures  her;  that  is  to  say,  no  cold^  , 
Aan  .t  w^  on  the  dock,  not  so  cold  even  in  some  shelter^ 
nooks  he  knows  of  ;  and  finally  mademoiseUe  takes  his  arra. 
,and  ascends  with  him  to  the  deck. 

*•    "The  other  young  lady.is  not  surely  sea-sick  so  soon?" 
.  says  this  artful  young  man,  for  he  is  curious  to  see  that  othei 
'  young  lady,  with  the  silveor  voice,  and  graceful  figuie,  and 
»ailed  face. 

"  No,  only  gettirig  ready,"  she  answers,  and  laughs.  "  Mv 
rnter  ,s  always  sea-sick-the  very  sight  of  the  sea  turns  he, 
111.  ohe  wiU  be  dl  from  now  untiJ  we  land.  I  am  sorry  foi 
her  you  understand,  but  I  hâve  to  laugh.  Now  I  am  sea- 
sickscarcelyatall.  I  hâve  crossed  the  Channel  many  timea. 
«.d  unless  it  is  very.  very  rough,  I  api  not  ill  a  moment. 
Butjor  Mane-ahl   she  is  fit  to  die  béfore  she  reache. 

r^V^'"  ^^"^  "^^"^  '"^^  -^^  younggentleman  leam. 
many  things.     First,  that  Marie  is  my  sis^er-well.  he  had 
«innised  that  muchj  that  the  "  little  ladies"  are  certain], 
F««ch;  that  they  haï  cfôssëJ  the  ChânneT many  times.^ 
that  this  one  may  be  his  compagnon  de  voyage  to  New  York  • 


k^^-.^iM^iu(àfr>  .-.t^.^      } 


.'  V 


/ 


FEJt  STEAMEX  HESPEEIA. 


■S 


bat  tfut  it  U  more  than  doubtful  iT  the  other  ap^»ean  at  alL 
This  is  «0  disappointing  that  he  hazards  a  question. 

*♦  I  am  really  very  sony  for  your  sister.  Surely  ihe  will 
not  be  obliged  to  keep  her  cabin  ali  the  way  across." 

"  AU  the  way,  monsieur,"  answers  the  owner  of  the  daik 
f  )«s,  with  a  pretty  French  gesture  of  eyebrows  and  ihoul- 
Jcrs.  "  She  will  just  lie  in  her  berth,  and  grow  whiter  and 
whiter  every  day,  and  read  a  great  deal,  and  munch  dry  bis- 
cuit», and  sieep  when  she  is  neither  reading  nor  munchiug, 
ontil  we  land  at  New  York.  Do  you  belong  in  New  York, 
monsieur?" 

"Not  exactly,  niademoisçlle.  I  belong  down  South,  bat 
I  hâve  seen  a  good  deal  of  New  York  oflF  and  on.  If  yoa 
will  permit  me  "— he  produces  a  card  with  a  bow,  and  a  slight 
boyish  blush.  The  dark  eyes  rest  upon  it  and  read  "  Francis 
Dexter."  Before  she  can  make  any  acknowledgment,  or  re- 
turn,  as  he  hopes,  the  confidence,  the  captain  suddenly 
approacbes,  and  reads  the^làsteboard  over  her  shoulder. 

"Well,  my  little  lady,"  he  says  in  his  jovial  voice,  **  how 
goes  the  ma/-dr-m€r  t  Noneyet?  That's  a  good  girl.  Mr. 
Dexter,  good-aftemoon  to  you,  air.  I  saw  you  on  the  deck 
a  while  ago,  but  hadn't  time  to  speak.  My  little  friend.  Ma 
demoiselle  Reine,  Mr.  Dexter,  going  to  New  York  in  my 
care.  If  you  can  help  to  amuse  her  on  the  passage,  I  shall 
take  it  as  a  personal  favor.  How  is  Mademoiselle  Marie? 
Not  sick,  surely  ?  Oh  1  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  l'il  call  up. 
on  her  presently,  when  I  get  time." 

The  captain  bustled  away. 

Maderaoiselle's  dark  eyes  regard  her  companion. 

"  You  know  the  captain  ?  "  she  inquires. 

"Oh,  very  weUj  crossed  with  him  when  J  came  over— 
an  out-and-outgood  fellow,  one's  beau-ideal  of  a  joUy  saflor.  - 
Jt  il  more  Aan  a  year  stnee  we  met,  but  he  seeoii  to  hâve  ï^ 
|ood  memoiy  for  lacea.    I  didn't  suppose  ^-s  woold  lemem 
ber  me." 


^ 


i6 


n^  stÀameji  HESPEifr^      ^ 


w  \ 


iou  hâve  bcen  tra>eli„g  a  wbclc  year?"  d,.  a^. 

A.1  Amencans  travel.  do  they  not?    Thev  ^  .f.!  î?^- 
once  at  least  in  their  life.  I  ani  tôld."  '       ^    ***  *^' 

"Or  if  not  in  their  life,  they  go  if  they  are  goôd  wher  thi*  < 
±c  :  responds  young  Dexter,  laughin/    «P^S/j^W      Î:^ 
«l»rly  jolly-  paradise,  alive  or  dëfd      i  .      T        *'*^' 
^ere.  and  cou.d  hardly  tear:ysera4  o^JarsTS 
Vienna,  and  ail  the  rest  of  «em      I  thlnk  r  h»  "^V^™^^  *"^ 

"  Ah  I  monsieur  is  in  the  army— _•  \ 

"Notât  ail.     Leave  from  the  powers  at  hnm.  t 
'  Mv  nncU T  a.«  u-  F"wers  at  nome,  I  votKa. 

Meur,  hâve  you  see»  R(^  j-n  ?  " 

/"The  Manchester  of  France,  as  they  call  it-place  mA 

Jo«n  of  Arc  n.ade  a  noisel  the  world  and  Corneille  a„d 


.i 


^'i 


j        ^MM  stAauex  hesperia.  i; 

Fon^nelle  were  boni,  and  wheie  thereis  Notre  Daine  déBçm 
Secours,  beamiftiras  a  vision.'^'he  sa>s,  with  voluble  diaco^ 
nectedness.  "Oh,  yes,  mademoiseUe,  I  hâve  sren^ouen." 
Hcr  face  lights,  her  eyes  shine,  her  lips  pouteagerly  3he 
isabouttospeak— then  suddetjy  some  thought  check»  the 
woï^s  upon  her  lips,  the  light  fades  out  of  her  face,  and 
■he  leans  over  and  looks  silently  at  the  dark  flowing  lyater.* 
"Youknow  Rouen,  mademoisellf;?"  Dexter  asserts,  hia 
folded  arms  on  the  bulwjfrks,  his  eyes  on  her  face.    "         \ 

«*!  know  it  i#fell,  moi^ieur,  better  than  welL  "I  was  born 
in  Rouen." 

She  stops  abruptiy,  recoUecting,  perhaps,  that  this  cheery^,  . 
boyish,  bright  young  fellow  is  a  total  stranger.  Indeed,  m08| 
pcople  are  apt  to  forget  that  fact,  after  tert  minutes  of  Mr. 
Dcxter's  Society.  He  sees  a  shadow  fall  on  her  face,'  he 
hears  a  faint  «igh,  or  fancies  he  doçs,  but  the  brown  eyes 
do  not  lift  from  the  white^Mpped  and  angrj'-looking  littie 
waves. 

"Ah  !  awfully  joUy  place  to  be  born  in,  I  should  say,"  b 
what  Mr.  Dexter  remarks  sympathetically  ;  «  so  old,  knd  his. 
torical,  and  ail  that.  Makes  one  rub  i^p  one's  knowledge  o{ 
French  history  and^gnes  Sorel,and  Diane  de  Poictiers,  and 
->U.a  P^celle  d'Orléans,'  as  they  call  her  there,  and  aU  the 
oUier  lovely  ladies  who  had  their  day  and  made  themselves 
immortal  in  that  old  town  *across  the  hiUs  of  Normandy. 
Wow,  /  was  bom^  in  Boston,  and  anythtng  more  anromantic 
than  Bofton  the  mind  of  man  ftas  never  concéived." 

'♦But  générations  yet  unboni  will  proudiy  point  it  out  ai 
Ihe  birthplace  of  Frank  Dexter.  My  dear  boy,  tum  round, 
tnd  let  me  see  if  those  dulctt  tones  really  belong  to  you." 

The  voice  that  says  this  is  a  woman's,  and  Mr.  Dexter  and 
Mademoiselle  Reine,  turnmg  round  simultaneously,  see  the 
yeaker.    They  see  a  lajy  whose  best  friend  cannot  call  he»-^ 


jroung,  whose  worst  en^my  dare  not  stigmatize  her  as  old.    A 
Udf  who  h»  rounded  the  Rnbicon— thirty-five--~and  g«Mi*  • 


'  » 


""V-  Mm 


j8 


P^^  STEAMSX  MA  XPEK/A. 


•tep  or  two  down  hill  towards  forty,  fa)l,  coniinandlnit  of  ftiM 
présence  and  fine  face,  dark  and  well  t»nn<d,  and  lit  ùp  bv  . 
pair  of  briUiant  dark  gray  eye».  i,  J^'  ^  «  up  D^ 

"Miss  HariottfoFaducatl-'i^^aiIlàU^^  before 
hc  has  seen  her,  and  then  ,h«às  ÉiizeSlcr  hand  .ud  i. 
shakmg  ,t  with  aa  «nergy |^t  Al«»f  bi»  type  invaiubl, 
throw.ntoihatperf(^nia|fc|"l  knew  you  were  abrc^i 
Md  used  to  search  Ihe^liapregisters  in  «vt^r  placç  I  cw.i« 
to  for  your  naine.'»  'v         «    « 

"  I  don'l  believc  you  ever  thought  of  me  once,  from  th* 
moment  we  parted  untUthe  présent,"  skepticaUy  retorts  tbs 
Mdy. 

"Oh  I  upon  my  Word  I  did  ;  kept  a  looko»t  foryonevety. 
where,  on  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  and^in  the  Hospice  oi 
theGreat  St.  Bernard  inclùded.  But  yo'bnever  tumed  up,  , 
need  hardly  say.  Better  late  than  pev»r,  thongh.  Delight- 
fui  surprise  to  meetyou  hère.  How  was  it  I  didû't  see  yo. 
on  the  dock  this  forenooo  i*" 

;'  Because  you  were  better  emplo>ed  gazing  clsewhere,  J 
suppose.     But,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  really  looking  ver,  ' 
brown,  and  nice,  and  healthy,  and  good-natured.    it  isqoite 
a  pleasure  to  fee  you  looking  so  well." 

"l  had  a  jletter  from  Laurence  last  month,"  goes  on  the 
r^!::ÎÏJ^  ^"'"'"^  ^^  yo"-saying  you  ought  to  be  re: 

wouIdJMHËHiËiftïÉf  you  aiHpkh  you  home." 

,~„«^,  says,  laughiûg,  "Longworth  (s  an  cld 

^er  of  yours,  I  know.  l've  a  good  mind,  since  he  so  kJAiU, 
committed  me  to  your  charge,  to  Ict  you  take  carc  of  me  âi 
fer  as  Baymouth.  I  ihould  like  to  see  the  dear  old  bo* 
■gain."  1  *  ™ 

"Do,"  s»ys  Misa  Hariott    ««thiienwd^bc  uu huiif  goiilÉ 
4»im  South,  and  Baymouth  will  bp  looking  its  loreUeiC  b» 


\ 


^■W  STEàJÊEM  HESPEHJA. 


''\ 


«f 


*•  tfane  we  g«t  thent     I  think,  on  the  wbôlè.  I  i,ref«%  ic 

"lUnfc  blasphemy  to  uif  la    Miss  Haridtt,  let  me  makt 
jrw  acqiiajnted  with— MademoiseUe  Reine." 
An  older  man,  a  wiser  man  (which  FraiÂ  Dcxter'it  noâ 


*  ™i,''^  ^*  worMJwhich  Fnmk  Dexter  nevcr  wiu'bi^ 


Ji^4.u        .u       ,      ^ ~*  i'cxicr  never  wiU  | 

«Withaye  thought  tmce  before  introducing  two  ladief  ■ 
Alt  free  and  easy  way.  without  the  t^nselit  of  either,  and  ui 

^IT  ^u  f ''  '^''  «««  P^lîshed  ««ui,  he^^o^ld  Bot 
be  the  well-likedycHuigfeUow  thaï  1^». 
^The  Uttle  Norman  giri,  wh«c  d^  teyet  are  the  chid 
^ofherohvefece,  look»  ùp  and '^às.  Mi«*  fîariott 
bok.  down  wiA  that  kind  and  half  wèr^l  glance  young 
Dexter  haj  seen  often  in  her  eye.,  when  tJi^y  look  m.  d 
and  youthful  facet. 

would.  Now.  hke  a  good  boy.  if  you  will  run  for  a  chai-- 
not  axamp-sfool.  I  beg.  I  weigh  ope  hundred  and  fifty-seve» 
pounds,  Mademoiselle  Reine,  and  tremble  whenever  iT 
trust  myself  tq  one^-  Ah  I  thank  you.  my  dear,"  to  Frank 
retummg  «nth  a  substantial  arm-chair.  "Now  we  can  talk 
»nd  be  comfortable-as  comfortable,  at  Içast.  as  it  is  eve. 
possible  for  sane  human  beings  to  be  m  a  ship.  Praire  ^^ 
:^^'^Z::^  '^-^--^  -er  axio^^tha,  th.  anywhere, 

^ih^.T'^A^  can't  agrée  with  you,  Mis.  Hàritftt.     'A  wc< 
^^  and  a  flomng  sea.  and  »  wind  that  follows  faat,' i,£î 
^t  my  ,dea  of  perfect  eàrthly  felieity.     Do  you  know^ 
•tiat  I  mean  to  do  m  Baymoudi  ?" 
^  Nothing  good.  I  am  perfectly  «ire  ;  the  particular  natt  oi 

^^^able  to  specify.    Vou  .id  to  .e.  Uurenc 


T 


^f^y  th^t.  anâ  to  enjoy  your  sUty;  of  co„^ 
mm  Harwrt  look,  .evere);  "birt  my  chicf  objett  i«  to  h.f. 


pMÉii&«;^^.  ..*«»&: 


1*4 


io 


^^&*  STEAMEk   HESPSRiA. 


your  httle  New  England  town,  and  it  is  about  ail  Aeîdô 

know,  except  to  make  pumpkin  pies^-^  -  ^  * 

"  Pumpkjn  pie  is  the  national  disITof  mv  countrv     T  h- 

tt^Xr;rpe::^:r'""  -"^  --^  -^  -^ 

wiÂTiI,r'  ""  ""'"'  "  '  "'"■  '»  •'"«''  *«  yacht.    I 

And  if  Ma'  '  '7/ V'  ^^"°^  '^  ^'^^^  ^''-'  '  siJuld  Jnk 
And  tf  Ma  amselle  Re.ne  is  any where  within  a  hundred  milec 

we  mil  be  more  than  happy  to  call  for  and  take  her  too" 

^spo\en"a  f""'^'"-  «""  ^^^-^  Ba'^u^ 
^  spoken.  a  qu.ck  mterest  has.  awakened  in  her  quiet  face 
and  she  has  sat  attentive  to  every  word.  But  if  Dexter  a2 
once  more,  wished  by  this  well  directed  hint  to  dlxoL  h" 

«nd  answers  too,  with  perfect  seeming  frankness.  ^ 

.hJ^"  V"'""*"'  "^'"^  ^  «^'^  g°'"«he  says,  "but  1 
I^ould  fancy  yachting.     Are  we  going  to  hâve  .  roùgn 
::?lr;eT'    a  prospective  sea-captain  ought  tôt 
"  Well-a  leetle  dirty  weather,"  replies  Mr.  Dexte,  cat 

^'wK^°^"^  *°  «gnify-nothing  to  be  afraid  of."         ^ 
...^^".  ^^'^^'  ^«*°««  Miss  Hariptr,jndignantlj..>u^ 


"nxy.     i  ncver  hked  precocfous  children,  and  if  I  J^d 

1 


T^'VVT'W^-^ 


Vr 


PRR  STEAMER  HESPRRTA.  %\ 

Ikeeo  ftear  that  uncle  of  yours  when  he  protosed  the  trip,  1 
•hoiild  hâve  strongly  recommended  him  to  keep  you  in  th« 
nursery  a  few  years  longer.  Not  that  I  think  the  old  genUe- 
man  should  be  spoken  to  as  a  rational  being,  for  wkat  san« 
man  would  ever  hâve  disinherited  Laurence  Longworth  fof 
a  siJly  boy  like  you." 

"  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Hariott,"  says  the  young  man,  lather 
uneasily,  ''don't  get  on  that  exciting  topic,  I  entreat  It 
always  carries  you  away.     And  it  wasn't  my  faulL     If  Larry 

choie  to  be  a  fool " 

"Therel  change  the  subject,"  excUdms  Miss  Hariott 
robbing  her  nose  in  a  vexed  way.  «As  you  say,  ifs  a  thing 
that  upsets  me,  and  also,  as  you  say,  it  is  not  your  fault 
MademoiseUe,  is  this  your  first  trip  across  the  Atlantic?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  mademoiselle's  first  océan  voyage  ;  but  she  hai 
crossed  thé  Channel  six  times,  and  that  is  a  tolerable  test  o( 
■ea-going  qualities." 

«  You  are  French,  my  dear,"  pursues  the  elder  lady.  «•  I 
knew  it  before  I  came  up  and  spoke  to  Frank.  You  hâve 
a  thoroughly  French  face.  But  how  perfecUy  you  speak 
English,  with  scarcely  even  an  accent" 

Mlle.  Reine  smiles  again.  That  duik,  French  face,  which 
onç  would  hesitate  before  pronoundng  even  pretty,  lightt 
vividly  whenever  she  smUes,  and  the  smUe  is  in  the  bronze 
brown  eyes  before  it  reaches  the  lips.  Miss  Hariott,  no 
mean  judge  of  faces,  a  shrewd  and  keen  observer  of  the  mcn 
and  TTomen  she  meets,  but  withal  ons  nf  the  most  tender- 
hearted  ancfimpulsive  maiden  ladi-  oq  eitfth,  lalls  in  love 
with  her  on  tne  spot 

"Mademoiselle  was  bom  i,'  ?.ouen/»  lays  young  Detteiv 
who  «  a  talker  or  nothing.  «You  went  to  Rouen,  Mjm 
Hanott,  didn't  yon  and  went  out  of  your  ■eoses  as  I  did 
^vw  Nbtr»  liime  *  ^*«  3ir««r/,  and  siia  y^  prayers  beT" 
fcw  one  of  those  lovely  altars  eveiy  day,  as  I  didn't.  I  wiifc 
I  hèd  b«e»  bon  in  Roaen,  a  V«iMUe%  or  Vcroiu^  <ic 


V 


•'»! 


b'ijjii5fcMi'w.5â't.*'-i«  -41,,;^. > 


.  »_  .irù:rh^ 


k  iSf?  i«&ë?. 


'1* 


2û 


PEX  STEAMER  HESPREIA. 


«r.    T^  **'*"^  *^'*^^  ^^"K'^'  *o  ï'av*  be«n  boni." 
^  ^u  *^  of  nonsense  you  talk.    l  was  asking  mad^ 

Hewe  dont  say  anything  for  the  next  five  minutes  if  yi 
Cânhclp,  and  give  your  feUow^eatures  a  chance.» 

The  rebuke  in  no  way  disconcerts  Mr.  Dexter,  and  tbe 
■oft  eyes  of  Uie  httle  mademoisçUe  look  up  at  him  with  that 

tolookat.    But  she  addressfes  fi^e  lady. 
Jur'^î^,'"  Roueî,;»ïd  hâve  Uved  there  neitfly«n 
Z^V    !!    i''"*^'''»*°yEnglish  there--she  hésitâtes  a 
Teric^"'   the  smae  dies  qui.e  away-«.y  «other  wa. 

« Americun  F"  repeats  Miss  Hariott,  deKghtedly.     «Ah  I 
th«accounts.    Why,  my  dear,  you  are  almosL  compatnot" 

an.  WiU  I  oftend  you  very  much  if  I  say  I  Hke  neither 
Amènes  or  Americans ?" 

Frank  reddens.  For  a  moment  Miss  Hariott  does  look 
«chnedtobeoffended.  There  is  a  Uttle  embarrassing  pa^^ 
But.  my  dear,  your  mother •' 

"  My  mother  is  dead." 

possible  for  you  to  dislike  your  mother-s  people  I      h!!t, 
FOU  known  so  many  disagreeable  Americ*ns  ?" 
"  I  never  knew  any." 
J'Then  how  is  it  possible  for  you  to  judge  whether  you  Uke 

^1^  T."^""'  ^°'  '"^  ^'^  ^^'^^  English  mera^ 
Peop^V  Dickens,  Mrs.  TroUope-have  written  ro  mak. 
moaey  and  caricature  us  ?" 

=ï««HKiarye«  what  it  S^  Doctor  FeU  sort  of  diilik« 
peri»P«.    AU  I  know  is  that  it  lèihere."  ^^ 


r  M 


FBJ  ÉTRAMEk  HESPRkU. 


n 


.  -.«i 


"  A  very  poor  compliment  to  her  la  te  mother,"  thinks  Miu 
Hariott  "Well,  my  dear,"  she  says  aloud,  with  perfect 
good  humor,  "  we  must  try  and  dispel  that  illusion  when  wq 
get  you  among  us.  We  and  the  French  hâve  alwrays  been 
good  friends.  We  adore  to  this  day  the  memory  of  I  Jifa 
yctte.    He  was,  I  remember,  my  very  first  love." 

"  As  Longworth  is  your  last/'  says  Mr.  Dexter.  Please, 
may  I  speak  now,  Miss  Hariott?  The  five  minutes  are 
nirelynp." 

«  tf  you  can  talk  Ma'amselle  Reine  out  of  her  aversion 
to  jrou  and  your  counttymen,  Frank,  use  your  tong^e,  by  aU 
meana." 

^I  hâve  no  aversion  to  Monsieur  Frank,"  say«  made- 
moiselle, and  says  it  so  unexpectedly  and  so  coolly  that 
Frank  blushes  with  pleaçure,  and  Miss  Hariott  laughs  out- 
right. 

"  Then  it  is  collectively,  not  individually,  that  you  dislike 
us,"  she  says.  "I  am  glad  of  that,  for  gênerai  aversi^s  are 
more  easily  overcome  than  particular.  I  am  glad,  too,  you 
are  about  to  visit  us  ;  «hat  shows  a  generous  wish  on  yout 
part  to  know  us  before  )rou  absolutély  condemn." 

Mademoiselle  looks  up  suddenty  and  curiously  into  the 
elder  lad/s  face. 

"Because  I  wish  it,"  she  repeats.  i*Do  you  suppose, 
then  madame,  I  ara  going  because  I  désire  to  go — going  of 
ny  own  free  will  ?  " 

Once  again  the  girl's  words  are  so  unexpected  that  they 
^nite  put  good  Miss  Hariott  out  ail  the  more  because  a  re- 
ply  is  evidently  expected. 
\    "  Well,  mademoiselle,  I  certainly  supposed  that  in  visitiiii 

"  I  am  not  going  on  a  visiL     I  am  going  to  stay." 
''Ohl^  says  Miss  Hariotç  and  fors  nroroentiriijA^Hr 


aay. 

TKere  is  at  oooe  an  ootspoken  abruptness  and  a  reacin 


âSft^t'J^'î'i.v:^,'.t*i*i4.^»,«  .-^^i^'i.'''"    ■ 


•* 


*<  Pe^  STEAMER  ri  ES  PEU t 4, 

•bout  this  y(^ng  person  that  puzzles  her.     She  site  ai^  loua. 

M«lemoiselle  has  resumed  her  fonner  listrea.  attitude,  «ul 
il  gazing  at  the  fast-flowing  water. 
"A  young  woman  a  little  out  of  the  comraon,"  «hethioki 

thisone^th  black  hair  and  black  eyes.  that  one  with  f.u 
ha.r  and  blue  eyes.  the  inside  of  the  pretty  heads  ail  Z 

h^,'"     "     ^"'  '  """''  *'"  ^"^^  '^'"°^^'^"«  *'^'*«  fc- 
"It  is  grotWng  very  cold,"  says  the  young  lady.  risina 

«eur,  not  at  ail  "-as  Frank  eagerly  offers  an  arm.  '«  I  wiU 
do  vejy  well  a^one.  Good-tiy  for  to^lay,  Miss  Hari^ 
I^shaU  hâve  the  pleasure,   I  hope,   of  meeting  you    t 

"  We  will  mee^  and  disagree,  evenr  day  we  are  on  board, 
my  dear,  re.ponds  M.ss  Hariott,  cordiany.  And  thenThe 
«ts  and  watches  the  slight.  shapely  figuref  quick,  light,  «d 
easy  m  eveiy  movement,  out  of  sight.  "»     6  't  -«« 

^f'T'l  "r°^^'"^)^  Dexter,  taking  the  deserted 
.tool,  "and  what  do  you  think  of  her?  I  hâve  heard- 
JUngworth  said  it,  of  cours<^-that  yo,»r  judgment  is  infaDi- 

"Is  she  pretty,  Frank?"  is  the  lad/s  response.     «You 
are  a  boy,  and  ought  to  know." 

fivl'f^V    ^  ''^l  Aree-and-twenty  last  birthday.    I  an' 
five  feet  eleven  and  a  half  inches  high.     I  weigh  o«  ho» 
dr^  and  suty  pounds.     I  hâve  been  in  love  with  three  di. 
Unct  ballet-girls,  and  one  Alpine  maid  last  summer.     What 
hâve  I  done  to  be  stigmatized  thus ?" 
"If  you  were  as  tall  as  Blunderbore,  the  Welsh  giant.  if 
^  I^wer^^^Uyeix  as  John  Andersoa'*  »po,r/  «^  i^ 
^had  been  m  love  with  ail  the  balUt-girls  in  the  Hack 
CrooL  you  would  sdll  be  nothing  but  a  bif  boy^f  rctort, 


.^A 


PER  STEAMER  HESPERIA. 


a$ 


Miss  Hariott  "Answer  ni)  question — is  madeiuoisella 
pretty?"  * 

"  Wel),  no — except  vrhen  she  sniîles^  and  then  ihe  is  là 
most— 

"  *  Brown  eyet,  and  pale,  pale  face — 

A  wond'rom  face,  that  nerer  beanty  had, 
And  yet  is  beantifnL'  | 

lluit  describes  her.  '  There's  a  sort  of  fascination  about  her 
— don't  you  think  ?  A  fellow  might  easily  fall  in  love  with 
a  girl  like  that" 

"A  fellow  of  the  Frank  Dexter  sort  tnight  easily  fall  in 
love  with  his  grandmother,  if  the  law  did  not  forbid  it  and 
DOthing  else  in  petticoats  was  near.  I  wonder  you  had  not 
made  an  idiot  of  yourself  long  ago,  and  niarried  one  of  your 
iMUet^ls." 

"So  do  I.  It  is  not  my  fault,  though.  I  asked  one  of 
them,  ànd  she  wouldn't  hâve  me."  ^ 

"Nonsense." 

"No,  it  is  a  fact  She  danced  in  Niblo's,  and  it  wai 
three  winters  ago.     I  was  madly  in  love,  I  assure  you." 

Hère  Frank,  catching  sight  of  Miss  Hariott*  s  disgusted 
fiice,  explodes  into  a  great  laugh. 

"  Frank,  this  is  awful  nonsense " 

"  It  is  gospel  truth,  Miss  Hariott.  Sh«?fluctuated  between 
me  and  the  fellow  who  blew  the  clarionet  in  the  orchestra, 
fer  five  whole  days  and  nights,  and  finally  threw  me  over  for 
Ihe  clarionet  I  was  in  despair  for  twenty-four  hours ,  then 
I  wenl  to  see  '  Faust  '  at  the  Opera-House  on  Eighth  ave- 
nae  fell  in  love  with  Montajmd,  and  one  passion  cured  the 
other." 

*  You  aie  a  dreadful  fool,  Frank.     Are  you  going  to  fall 
h  love  witli  this  little  mademoiselle  ?  " 
"    •*  If  she  win  permit  nié.  Tl^ddfif  thtnk  I  qb  amoM  ^^ 
wlf  more  innocently  on  the  passage  home." 

"Whatiihername?" 
• 


?• 


■^T        f    ^^l^A^çj^JH^ 


■/ 


^ 


^      ^  fBR  STEAMER  HBSPEStA. 

**  Mademoiselle  Reine." 
"  What  is  her  other  name  ?  " 

"Oh,  thereisasister.     What  is  she  Kke ? " ' 

Jidn  L    She  ^ore  a  vail  which  she  never  put  un     Thevt« 
to  be  qu.te  alone,  and  travcHng  i„  the  captais  c^e      , 
hâve  a  conviction  she  wiU  be  the  on*  r  «hiii T  ■?' 

préférence,  if  she  appears.''  "^^  ''°"*^''''*  «"^ 

be  a  simpleton  of  the  first  water  "  necessit, 

T^nm^lZ^r\^''  rf  "^'  '°"^  *°  thi/compliment.  ' 
i-n    K  û.  ^''  ''^'''  ^'^^  ™°5t  plump  people  is  of  « 

chilly  habu.  gets  up;  takes  his  arm,  staggers  b^C  lïî 
ieen  no  mort  '  Ydung  Dexter  eoes  toTf       u  •  ' 
frateWs  ^theve^one  he^^^fe:  Indt^^^'^LTlZ 
the  pretty  smUe  the  deep  M,ft  eyes.  and  that  oth'e r  vld^^^^^ 

iJh    rr/^  *"  "^*^  '■'^^^^  ^^  removed  now- 
hftsher  head  fron,  he.  piUow as  her  .ister  enters,.and  ^Z^ 

**  At  last,  Petite ** 

**  Marie  I" 
"Well,  Petite  I" 

"  I  remember.     Well  ?  "  \      , 

"  He  addressed  me  again  and  we  began  to  laïk.     Then  a 

Ulkedof^ManctheytalkedofBaymouth.'^  ^^ 


•foJwowi  and  layra,  calml/ 1 


7h*a:-»- 


«■• 


PRR  STEAMER  MESPERIA. 


V 


"Et/uùt" 

"  And  th  :n— how  is  it  thàt  nothing  exatei  >ou,  Marie  ? 
It  itartled  me,  1  can  tell  you.  To  speak  of  thàt  place,  and 
before  me,  and  so  soon." 

**  An  odd  coïncidence,  I  admit     Did  they  speak  of " 

**  Not  a  Word,"  says  Reine  quickly  ;  "  they  mentioned  bul 
one  name — Laurence  Longworth.  But  who  is  to  tell  whal 
I  may  not  hear  berore  the  journey  ends." 

*'What,  indeed,"  says  the  other,  falling  back  on  her  pillow, 
«a»  if  it  could  do  any  good.  Reine,  I  would  rather  hear 
nothing— not  one  word— and  go  to  my  fate  blindfold.  If  I 
were  going  to  hâve  a  limb  eut  ofl;  I  would  rather  the  surgeon 
told  me  nothing  about  when  or  how,  but  just  put  me  into  an 
ether  slecp  and  amputate  it  without  my  knowledge.  When 
we  know  what  we  are  going  to  suffer,  we  suffer  twice  over, 
in  anticipation  and  in  reality.  And  I  think  the  first  is  the 
worse." 

"  Marie,  I  wish  we  had  never  come.  î  hâve  a  feeling,  a 
presentiment,  that  nothing  but  humiliation  and  niiseiy  wik 
come  of  it" 

••I  don't  believe  in  presentiments,  and  it  was  wise  to 
come.  Madame,  no/rg  grand' mère,  may  be  a  dragon,  but  in 
the  old  fairy-tales  even  the  dragons  were  conquered  by  cour- 
te. I  feel  as  though  we  were  the  héroïnes  of  a  fairy-tale, 
on  our  way  to  an  enchanted  castle,  never  knowing  what  the' 
fuardian  monster  ik  ^ike,  but  determined  to  charm  it,  an! 
come  off  victorious  ail  the  same." 

"  And  the  Prince  Charming,  chirie,  are  we  to  find  hijo 
theretoo?"  asks  Reine,  smiling  as  she  stoops  to  kiss  h« 
•iiter  ;  •'  every  faiiy-tale  ends  with  the  matriage  xA  princes» 
and  prince." 

The  Ace  on  the  piUow  clouds  suddenly— Marie  turni 
away  from  the  carets  with  arestless/inaiatfenî  iîgh. -^= 

"Don't  let  n>  talk,  Petite,"  she  says,  wearily;  -h  h 
veiy  rou^,  and  I  am  half  sick." 


^H^^^^Lù^S^j&WfUit  <u'.  %  >£M»t 


at 


n»  $TS.AMS/t  HESPRRIA. 


Hoilr.  pM^  and  pre«„i|y  i,  fa  Tell"/  l  *=""""«'<»• 

•ng,  and  eoes  \r^  h«^  •     u-  ~^'J'„"*^'— a  onght,  social  eveo- 
«■fcnni  au  whom  i.  „f,  co„eTmVar         "*""•  "^ 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  pirate  bold,  H 

The  scourge  of  the  wide,  wide  aea. 
With  a  murd'rous  thint  forgold. 
And  a  life  that  ù  wild  and  free," 

tag  for  hi,  ba.K  Ld  mlTe  V;  *"•;  ^'^  '°°-->-'  "-a- 
•iMps,  her  6ir  head  pillowed  „„  „„  '    V  ^"    ^'°"''  *•"« 


-;■"-»»■';  ;'* 


dMST  /A  JVJtT. 


CHAFTER  II. 


ion  iM  roRT. 


|R.  DËXTER'S  prédiction  about  dirty  weathec  k 
verified — it  is  extreiuely  dirty  for  the  neaù  tluee  daj  i. 
There  is  a  head-wind,  a  leaden  sky,  and  off  and  on 
a  fine  drizzling  rain.  The  stout  ship  plonges  and  plowi 
through  it  ail,  and  as  a  rule  everybody  is  at  death's  door  with 
•ea-sickness.  A  few  gentlemen  still  show  at  dinner  and  on 
deck,  and  conspicuous  aiuong  thèse  gentlemen  is  Frank  Dex 
ter,  who  "  coines  out  strong,"  in  the  words  of  Mark  Tapley, 
and  is  as  "  joUy  "  as  even.  Mark  could  be  in  the  same  place. 
He  never  misses  a  meal,  he  spends  his  evenings  in  the  smok* 
mg-room,  where  his  great  haw-haw  leads  the  laugh  ;  he  makei 
friendly  calls  upon  his  big  dog,  and  also  upon  Miss  Hariott  ; 
he  takes  vigorous  exercise  for  hours  together  on  deck, 
bttttoned  up  to  the  eyes  in  his  rough  coat,  lûs  ruddy  face 
ashine  in  the  slanting  wind  and  rain.  Àliss  riariott  is  dis- 
nially  sick,  so  the  captain  informs  him  are  also  "  my  little 
Udies  ;  "  but  in  their  absence  Mr.  Frank  is  consoled  by  an- 
other  ministering  angel,  upon  whom  neither  head-winds  noi 
dirty  weathéi  hâve  the  least  effect    . 

This  is  a  Mrs.  Scarlett,  a  ^si  pretty  blonde,  a  coquette 
of  the  purest  water,  and  who,  having  discove^ed  that  young 
Dexter  is  enormously  rich,  or  the  heir  of  an  eAormously  ricl 
uncle,  which  is  the  same,  singles  hi^i  out  at  oijce  for  distinc 
tion.  For,  âlthough  Mr.  Scarlett  exists,  and  partakes  with 
anexceptionid  reiish  of  three  meàis  aad  fi^iTéa  daily,  and 
Mr.  Dexter's  wealth  can  ultimately  benefit  i'n  no  way  Mra 
Scarlett,  still  it  is  quite  in  féminine  human  nature  to  preln 


KtAJ'ffiAu  '      'înt^ij.f'ii/!*  i)t/i.u£^-kjrii.< 


■">j.}»fimît 


JO 


.LOST  W  POJiT. 


y 


*e  golden  youth  for  one's  favoi-a       j  t, 

•er^ar^t.     In  a  ravTshm^  c  -,     '  *^"^  ^.'^^-  Scarlett's  câvaliei 

ed;.c.n  o^^r  .he  ^S/X^^^ : ^'-^^"^^^ 

-archupanddol\;t;s's;Stt-n  '"  ^"^^^  ^^^ 
by  Airs.  Scarlctt>f,e  ^>e  "andf^      '      "'^  ''^^  "^  ^'^°^'' 
"pièces  "  and  d^J^r^^       '''°'"«  ^'^"^  ^«  P%« 
bridges  at  midnigh?  wben    L    f  T^  ^^ôut  standing  on 
-d  ùnploring,  in'  I  ^SL^^,-  ^f /,  ^  f  ^-«  '^e  h'ou, 
break,  break  at  the  (ooi  Al^LtTù        ^  ^ ^'^**- 

^  ^o  upon.  that  Mr.  ScarletV  II   J^lT  *^''''^'"  ^^ 

Scariêtimust  hâve  beenWd  Toi      k       "'"'  '"^  *'"' 

her  fc  ,^as  another'r  S     „^'^^""  ^"^  '^"^  ^^^^ 

•  i»  ^^^•«^or.alco/^.ion!:^  -Jali  in  fo^ 

Pr  single,  old  or  young  (and  m1  s\'^  e^U^  ^hf '^r^^^ 
been  youneer)    do«.c  n^f  r      .u      •  ^'"  ^^^^X  bave 

.ng  .0  break  ou.  r,„,„  J^h  J  ^4  dZ  'ira";!.'"»  '^■ 
'iac  and  wa.c,.i„g  ,„e  „a:2.  "b^^  ^ff^^'^^::.  "'"  *' 

rstrr-"----^---:dtr^^ 

onehasmysteplikeyou,  Frank"  ""^^a^k-    No 


-  Wba. ,  „„,  Scariett  ?"  «^  Frank.  i„  U.a.  cheeiy  «fa. 


r 


1 


OST  IN  PORT. 


JI 


(rf  hi»  —a  thorpughljr  heartwhole  voice,  wh^t^rvei  iu  owna 
nuj-  think.  ' 

"Scarletll*  repeats  Mrs.  „Scarlett,  with  ineffabfc  «corn. 
Then  she  sighs,  and  saddens,  and is  silent,  and  tHesîgh, and 
the  sadness,  and  the  silence  are  nieant  to  say  :  "  Why  speafc 
'^Ihim  t  Wliy  no.t  let  me  forget  if  I  can,  n  congèrJal  com 
panionbhip,  the  galling  chain  that  binds  a  scnsitive  he*rt  U. 
one  cold  aud  coai  se  ?  "  -,  .;  '  . 

Frank  is  tcHiched.  ',  .   - 

"  Poor  little  wonian,"  he  thinks.     **  Scarlett  ti  a  bcajt 
If  I  were  in  his  place — —  " 

And  then  he  looks  do^n  into  the  pensiye  fajce,  and  sighf 
in  sytapathy,  and  starts  her  oflF  at  a  brjsk  cant«r 
^  they  pass  Mademoiselle  Reflîe  ;  she  sees  them,  but  she 
loes  not  look  up.  Miss  Hariott  sees  them  too,  when  a  lit- 
lie  later  she  réels  on  deck  and  totters  to  madembiselle's  side, 
and  she  nods  curtly  to  young  Dejiter,  aiid  looks  his  fair  friend 
W^through  with  her  fceen  woman's  eyes.       \    .    '  ' 

\  Mademoiselle  greets  her  with  a  smile,  «nd  the  two  fall  va 
;o  tajk  at  once,  and  compare  note»  about  their  t^iree  days* 
woe.  They  drift  off  to  other  things,  and  Miss  Harîott.finds 
that  Mlle.  Reine  can  converse  fluently  and  well.  Her  „«. 
scriptions  and  anecdotes  of  life  in  Rouen  are  wonderfully  IiT 
teresting.  She  narrâtes  simply  and  unaffectedly,  and  giows 
vividly  dramatic  sometimes.  They  sit  unt^I  the  luncheon 
bell  siunmons  them  below,  and  the  elder  lady  has  thoronghl» 
enjoycd  her  tête-â-iite. 

,  Neither  Mr.  Dexter  nor  Mrs.  Scarlett  sit  at  their  taWe, 
but  they  ar»-  stiU  together,  with  Mr.  Scarlett,  a  stout,  sena" 
We,  good-humored,  middle-aged  gentleman,  on  the  other  sidc 
of  his  wife,  paying  much  more  attention  to  the  eatables  thaï 
to  his  lady's  flirtation. 

iuocheoaover, mademoiselle  disappë|î«  lorâ^ffiS^  l^f 
Frank  presently  frees  himself  froni  his  fair  ensUver.  UMlfindi 
hiinself  at  MisstHariott'n  sidc. 


» 


,M' 


■as&és«i««^ 


% 


— ,  mm»' 


■.>,^r '■"'vi;:-.' 


v 


li 


»*  ^LOST  IN  PO$T. 

"So  lony  to  hear  you  hâve  been  seasick,  MIm  Huiott 

Nobody  can  tell  how  much  I  hâve  missed  you" 
Miss  Hariott  legard^  him  with  a  scornfiïl  eye. 
"A)»,  nôbodv,  I  am- quite  sure.     You  hâve  bcen  dreidfo] 

riS'"*''*'"^*~^°"'°°''"-     ^oisthatwoman?»      - 
What  wonian,  myJear  Miss  Hariott?" 

"  Now  tloa't  begin  by  being  an  imbécile  kt  the  very  open 
tog  cf  this  conversation.  That.woman  yOu  hâve  been  prano 
inft  up  and  down,  the  deck  ail  this  forenoon  ?  t» 

"I^cingl  That  any  one  should  call  Mrs.  Scarletei 
jraceful,  gliding  gail  prancing.  That  is  the  lady  who 
•us  kept  me  from  utter  désolation  during  your  jlnes. 
to^l,  ^^'    **^"  ^'^^      ^"^^  **   *he  prettiest  làdy  o^ 

"Ah  I  "  says  Miss  Hariott,  with  skeptical  scom. 
"  Surely  you  think  |o.     Did  you  ever  seé  a  moie  perfbci 
OHuplexion ?"  .  ^  v^"^ 

"JUce-powder,"  curtly  respondg  the  lady. 

"But  that  lovelycolor-^ "         * 

**  Houge  végétai."     ^  ^  ;         ' 

"  And  sucK  a  superb  head  of  hair   "  f  '» 
"  Bought  it  in  Paris,  my  precious  boy." 
-"Such  an  exquisite  tint,  too— -" 
"  Golden  Flujd,  Frank."- 

MVell,  but  the  figure,"  remonstrated  Dexter,  tryiiur  \m 
look  indignant,  but  immensely  tickled  ;  "that,  at  least/foa 
(«nnot  deny  is  genuine,  and "  ,       ^  ' 

•«  Cotton  and  corsets,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  trcnchaùtly. 

Don  t  teU  me.  I  know  nature  when  I  see  it,  and  I  kn<i 
ait  If  she  wants  to  parade  this  ship  and  exhibit  hersett 
why  doesn't  she  get  her  lawful  owner  to  parade  her  ?  Sh. 
15  niamed,  isn't  she  ?  "  ^ 

"^as  I  yea.     As  for  the  husband,  he  is  what  ail  husbuidt 
.«re^-Mi^Bien«ble^  brute.     He  smokes  and  reads  aîl  di^nS*  ~ 
•moke.  and  plays  cards  ail  eveuing,  and,  I  I^jUcvc,  spioker 


■?^ 


LOST  IN  rOMT. 


SS 


Bd  >lerps  ail  night     Is  it  hot  sad  to  sce  an  aogel  like  thaï 
irown  away  on  such  a  stolid  animal  ?" 
Miss  Hariott,  in  angry  disgust,  looks  to  see  if  he  is  in 
imest,  and  the  look  is  too  much  for  Frank.     That  school 
oy  laugh  of  h.s  breaks  forth,  and  makes  ail  who  are  withir 
peanng  smile-from  very  sympathy. 
«•  JVhat  is  the  joke  ?  "  says  a  voice  behind.     ••  May  I  com. 
nd  laugh  too?    I  like  to  laugh." 
"  ^^  ™>;  <î«"'  corne.     It  is  nothing  in  the  leasl  amus- 

foUy.    No,  don't  leave  us,  Frank " 

"  I  am  not  goirig  to  leave  you,  if  you  will  let  me  stav      I 

û  only  gomg  to  get  mademoiselle  a  chair.» 

For  it  is  mademoiseUe.  with  that  smile  on  her  dark  faoe 
id  m  her  deep  eyes,  that  makes  Miss  Hariôtt  think  her 
Dmethmg  more  than  pretty. 

"  How  is  your  sister  ?  *•  she  says. 

►orld.    She  wiU  be  lU  unta  «re  get  to  New  York  " 
"  Even  if  the  weather  is  fine  ?  - 

"  Even  if  it  is  fine.     But  if  she  were  well,  ahe  .till  would 
pot  come  on  deck ?"  •»■"*!  wonia 

"Whynot?" 

MademoiseUe  looKed  at  her  with  a  hall  laugtt. 

er  skm     It  îs  fine  and  fair  as  an  inf^fs,  and  will  not  bea, 
ne  least  exposure.  ' 

"Your  sister  is  a  vain  little  goose,"  thio^s  Miss  Hariott 
monde  g,rls  are  always  insipid,  and  I  h7ve  known  a  ew 
H  you  my  httle  lady.  are  fond  of  your  sister,  and  proud  oi 
kr  beauty,  and  U  .  U.e  first  weak  spot  1  hâve  discovered  i. 

^Miss  Hahott  is  not  malicious  in  spite  of  her  starUngl, 
mdid  cnfcsm  but  she  conscientiously  sets  herself  to  wTk 
di«^over.^fewmcre.     But  thisdemureNonnangirl  bX 


in^.ï-S.à&^'iAÎ:. 


hU 


'\ 


M 


l,0£r  IN  POMT. 


i        » 
tren  her  pénétration.     Weaknesses  she  may  hâve  m  pwntf 
but  at  least  they  do  not  lie  on  the  surface. 

*•  Your  sister  is  younger  than  you,  of  course  ?  "  she  remaik^ 
and  raadeinoiselle  looks  at  her  as  if  surpris«d. 

"  Younger  ?    No,  she  is  two  years  oHer.     Marie  is  twenty, 
I  am  eighteen." 

The  iningled  candor  and  reserve  of  the  girl  puzzle  the  cldei 
lady.  Young  persons  of  eighteen  are  not  generally  aver»s 
to  teUing  their  âge,  but  thèse  admissions  lead  one  to  look 
for  others,  and  the  others  do  not  corne.  AU  Miss  Hariott, 
who  has  a  fuU  share  of  womah's  curiosity,  can  make  out  be- 
fore  they  part  that  evening,  is  ihat  mademoiselle  has  Uvcd 
most  of  her  life  in  Rouen  with  a  paternal  aunt,  that  she  bas 
visited  Italy,  that  for  the  past  year  or  more  she  has  resided 
in  London,  that  she  speaks  German  and  a  little  Italian,  and 
that  she  does  not  know,  and  never  has  known  a  single  créa- 
ture  in  ail  America.  Then  why  is  she  going  there  ?  As  a 
leacher  ?  Hardly  ;  an  indefinableSomething  about  her  sayi 
she  has  a  definite  home  and  purpose  in  view,  and  that  she 
does  not  propose  to  eam  her  own  living. 

«♦Will  you  not  come  into  the  saloon,  my  dear,"  Miss  Ha- 
riott says,  as  darkness  falls  over  the  sea,  and  they  go  below  ; 
"  we  are  to  hâve  an  amateur  concert." 

♦♦  Yes,"  responds  madenioisellç,  with  a  moue  of  disdain 
that  is  thoroughly  French,  "  a  concert  of  cats.  Wc  heard 
you  last  night,  ahd  shut        door  to  keep  it  out" 

"  That  niust  hâve  been  i  Frank  was  singing,"  respondi 
Miss  Hariott.  "  Did  you  ....  Frank?  When  he  is  vcij 
uiuch  excited  he  sings  the  most  and  the  worst  ofaiyoçe 
alive.  It  v»as  rather  trying,  even  to  nerves  not  too  ifiusical, 
to  hear  him  and  Mrs.  Scarlett  doing  a  duo,  she  sliiieking 
soprano,  he  boouiing  bass.  But  if  you  will  corne  in  to^Ight, 
a  piroioifie  to  tiy  and  keep  him  quieT.^  1  knôwby  yôûr  Tîce 
you  can  siiig." 

"Yes,  I  can  sin^,"  says  MUe.  Reine.     She  pauses  wiU 


'  î--^    ■"**■•; 


'Jt  ''" 


>^;^?<  -î 


nay  hâve  m  çttaUf 


1.0ST  IN  PORT. 


JS 


nowtly  ybùr  lice 


.  bnght  smile  "I  won't  sing  for  you  in  this  ship."  Z 
Wy^  "but  I  w,ll  uromise  you  this.  I  will  sing  for  yoû  one 
^^as  often^d  as  long  as  you  like.    A  d,main--fgooâ 

She^disappears.     Miss  Hariott  looks  blankly  at  Dext«. 

"Whatdoessheinean?"sheasks. 

Frank  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

"Who  knows?  Dont  ask  me.  Lct  us.only  hope  «, 
Ichannmg  a  promise  may  be  fulfiUed.  Perhap.  she  too^  Z 
fronce  for  Baymouth."  ^w  »  « 

He  says  it  with  an  incredulous  laugh  ;  but  a  thoughtfui 
«do»  cornes  slowly  over  Miss  Hariôtfs  face.     It  remaiw 

bere  ail  evemng  as  she  sits  and  knits  something  with  two 
H  needles.  and  a  lap  fuU  of  rose-colored  and  white  wooT. 
I«d  not  even  Frank's  comic  songs  can  dispel  it     It  i.  «aji 

nere  when  she  goès  to  bed. 

"It  would  be  curions,"  she  «ys,  as  she  knots  up  aU  her 
klossy,abundant  dark  hair  for  thenight,  "it  would  be  v^y 
purious,  and  yet  it  might  be."  ^  oc  va-y 

Whatever  her  suspicion  is^  she  tries  next  day,  and  trie,  in 

M»  to  discove/  if.it  be  correct.    She  asks  no  dteTt.  nôt 

vcn  mdm.ct  questions,  but  the  shadow  of  a  smUeT^nsTn 

.ademo.seUe's  dark  eyes.     She  sees  her  drif^id  I^idlî 

er  skai  so  artfuUy  that  Miss  Hariott  is  ahnost  ve^eS.     jf  " 

I  fine,  sunny  day.  and  they  spend  it  chiefly  on  deck  «A 

^  fo/MaT  "'To^'  .^'-Hariôtfs  liking  h^  "iî 
^a«.s  for  Mademoiselle  Reine.     There  is  a  ring  of  the  Le 

^ncples.  the  elder  lady  discovers,  and  she  approve.  of  thaï 
^^of  trunng  »  .pjte  of  Jt.  tendency  to  make  youn,  woZ 

-  gentlemap',  hf.  U)  b.  off  with  the  old  love  andT 


%  4 


Fit 


S6 


LOSl    W  FORT 


irilh  the  new  as  rapidly  and  as  frequently  as  possible.  Thaï 
mademoiselle  likes  his  society  is  évident ,  that  she  carcs  foi 
the  Society  of  no  other  man  on  board  is  also  évident  ;  And 
Dexter,  hugely  flattered,  sunenders  Mrs.  Scarlett  entiieljr 
before  the  voyage  ends,  and  lies  ail  day  long  likc  a  tru« 
knight  on  a  raihyay  rug  at  his  liège  lady's  feet. 

The  morning  of  the  very  last  day  dawns  ;  before  noon  thej 
wîli  be  in  New  York.  AU  is  bustle  and  expectation  on 
board,  gladn^ss  beams  on  every  face— on  every  face  excepi 
that  of  Mlle.  Reine.  She  during  the  last  three  days  has  grown 
grave,  and  very  thoughtful,  and  silent. 

"  My  sdtenin  Uttle  lady,"    says  Miss  Hariott— it  is   the 
captain's  invariable  name  for  his  charge,  and  she  has  adopted 
it — "  how  pale  and  soniber  you  sit     Are  you  not  glad  it  ii 
to  be  our  last  night  on  board  ?  " 
"  No,  madame  ;  I  am  soqQjr." 
</  "Sorry,  dearchild?" 

"I  am  going  to  begin  a  new  life,  in  a  new  land,  among 
new  people — friends  or  foes,  I  know  not  which  yet  Th« 
old  life — ah,  such  a  good  life,  madame  ! — lies  behind  foréver  ; 
I  can  never  go  back  to  it.  And  between  that  old  life  ol 
yesterday  and  the  new  one  of  to-morrow,  this  voyage  has 
been  a  Connecting  link,  a  respite,  a  breathing-space.  Now 
ît  is  ended,  and  I  must  get  up  and  begin  ail  over  again,  and 
(  am  sorry.  I  am  more  than  sorry — I  am  afraid." 
"Afraid?" 

"I  am  going  to  a  home  I  know  nothing  of,  to  a  person  1 
hâve  never  seen.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  welcome  oi 
m  intruder.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  be  kept  or  senl 
Away.  It  is  the  same  with  my  sister.  Ilave  w  not  reaiOD 
10  be  afraid?" 

"  Is  she  afraid,  too  ?  * 

"  Marie  is  not  Jlke  me  ;  she  is  braver,  wiser  ;  die  is  oI«1ar, 

and  has  seen  more  of  people  and  of  the  world.     No;  m^ 

j|]  aster  is  not  afraid.     Perhaps  I  hâve  no  reason  'o  be  ;  bat  I 


LOST  TN  PORT. 


VI 


<rikh  this  voyage  would  go  on,  and  on,  and  v  n.  h  hai  oeeo 
pleasant,  and  pleasant  things  end  so  soon.  If  to-day  is 
goo<1,  why  should  we  ever  wish  for  to-morrow  ?" 

Frank  Dexter  is  approaching,  Before  he  eûmes,  Miu 
Hariott  takes  bcth  the  girl's  hands,  and  looks  eamestlj  intft 
■Jic  brown  sweet  eyes 

"  Tell  mt  this,"  she  says.  "  I  suspect  somethiivg.  Shtll 
we  ever  nieet  again?' 

Mademoiselle  smiles,  a  mischievous  light  chasing  the  g»?- 
Ity  from  her  face. 

"I  think  so,  madame." 

"  Then  remember  this,  my  dear  little  mademoiselle  :  if 
ever  you  are  in  trouble,  corne  to  me.  I  hâve  always  wanted 
to  be  fairygodmother  to  somebody,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  with 
a  touch  of  her  usual  whimsical  humor  ;  "  let  it  be  to  you. 
Tf  you  ever  want  a  friend,  let  me  be  that  friend  ;  if  you  evei 
need  a  home,  corne  to  mine.  I  fell  in  love  with  your  bonni« 
brown  eyes  the  first  moment  they  looked  at  me  ;  I  am  mor» 
in  love  to-night  than  ever.  Promise  me— hère  is  Frank- 
promise  me,  my  little  lady." 

"I  promise,"  says  Mademoiselle  Raine,  and  there  are 
tears  in  the  "bonnie  brown  eyes."  She  leans  forward  with 
a  quick,  graceful,  gesture,  and  touches  her  lips  to  Miss 
Hariott' s  tanned  cheek,  then  turns  and  moves  rapidly  away, 
just  as  Mr.  Dexter  saunters  up. 

"What  did  she  run  away  for?"  demands  Frank,  in  an 
njurcd  tone. 

••  VVho  would  not  run  when  tht,  see  you  coming,  if  they 

•ould?"  retorts  Miss  Hariott.     «I  ::annot.     I  can't  evei 

•rajk  decently  in  this  rolling  steamer.     Hère— give  me  your 

ai  m,  and  help  me  to  my  state-room.     It  is  ill  the  arm  w\U 

ever  be  good  for." 

"  COtildn't  be  devoted  to  a  nobler  use.   I  tay.  Miss  Hstfiott" 
hâve  you  found  out  where  mademoiselle  is  going  ?  " 
"  Antl  do  you  suppose  I  would  tell  you  if  ]  1  ad?  I  leaw 


j*  .Â:;  »j«  (^ 


inipertin«m,quc8tîons  to  Franl   Dexter.     Noir  go  awar  aw 
Sletl"'''^^  ^*'*'''  *""''  '^^'  ""'"  ^'"'"''^  Passy-cat,  Mra 
'  Thank  you,  I  will,"  says  Frank,  and  goes. 
But  when  to-niorrow,  the  last  day.  conies,  he  is  inwardl» 
detennined  to  discover  the  destination  of  the  nameless  and 
«ystenous  little  ladies.     The  invisible  Marie  appears  o,. 
deck,  tall,  slender,  graceful,  but  ag^'in-vailed.   She  is  intro- 
duced  to  Miss  Hariott  by  her  siste^.  and  bows  and  munnurs 
«  few  languid,  gracious  worda     Frank   is  not  presented. 
Mademoiselle  Reine  seems  ratJier  to  wish  to  avoid  him,  anJ 
^hat  this  young  lady  wishes  it  is  évident  she  can  acconiplish,- 
for  he  hardly;finds  an  opportunity  of  saying  six  words  to  her 
•11  day. 

Theyreachthepier.  To  describe  the  scène  that  ensuea 
w  impossible— the  wild  rush  and  excitement,  the  noise  of 
many  voices.  the  scramble  after  baggage,  the  meeting  of. 
friends,  the  gomg  ashore,  the  finding  of  hacks.  Frank  has 
to  see  after  his  own  and  Miss  1  lariott's  belongings,  to  find  a 
^    hackney-carriage  for  that  lady,  and  see  her  safely  off. 

The  "little  ladies"  at  the  beginning^f  the  mê/é^  hâve 
been  conveyed  for  s»fe  keeping  to  the  captain's  rpom.  But 
when,  having  seen  Mfss  Harjott  safely  a«vay,  Dextef  retums, 
flushed  andhot  and  eager,  he  instantly  makes  for  the  captain 
^  "Good  by,  captain,"  he  says,  extending  his  hand,  and 
tookmK  fArerywhere;  "I  am  about  the  last,  ara  I  not? 
Wherc  are  yo-ir  little  ladies  ?  " 

"  Gone,  Mr.  Frank."    ^  '  , 

"(îonel     Gonewhere?" 

«Can't  tell  you  that.  A  friend  came  for  them— a  get 
Ueman,  a  vci^  fine-looking  young  fellow."  says  the  captain. 
mahce  prepcnse  in  his  eye,  "and  they  went  away  -nth  him. 
We  h&ve  had  a  ratthng  run;hayen't  we?    Awfully  sorry  te 


Me  mem  ;  chàrming  little  laSea.  both.   Mr.  Frank,  tû.  ^ood 
Vf  Hi  ymu.'  '  • 


^a^^a    ■*^iJ^-^--'Ui.^  i^ 


.m 


!.. 


^ 

M 


.1..,, 


UUiGWQKTtt   9f  THE   ^M&tnX. 


I    JL 


CHAFTER  nL 


LONOWORTH  OV  IBM,  PHXNIZ. 


|AR  away  from  the  bustle  and  uproar  of  the  t<fe« 
York  piers,  sunny  and  sleepy  this°  May  day,  tliC 
town  of  Baymouth  lies  baking  in  tke  beat  of  mid- 
aftornoon.  It  is  very  warm  ;  Windows  stand  wide,  men  wear 
linen  coats  and  straw  bats  pulled  far  over  their  eyes,  ladies 
wield  fans  as  they  go  sbopping,  and  in  tbe  office  of  tbe  Bay 
moùth  Phénix,  every  man  of  tbem,  from  Longworth,  pro 
prietor  and  editor-in-cbief,  to  tbe  youngest  and  inkiest  devi) 
is  in  bis  sbirt-sleeves,  and  uncomfortable  at  tbat. 

Baymoutb  is  in  Massachusetts.  Having  premised  tbat 
geographical  fact,  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  tbat  Baymoutb  is 
a  town  of  enterprise,  intelligence,  industry,  and  every  cardinal 
virtue.  Baymoutb  is  a  town  of  white  bouses  .and  green 
Venetian  blinds,  of  beautiful  little  flower-gardt  ns  and  beauti- 
ful  waving  elms,  of  grape-vines  and  orcbards  of  bakc-sbops 
and  book-stores,  of  baked  beans  and  brown  bread  religiously 
every  Sabbatb  moming  ;  of  many  and  bandsome  churches, 
of  red  brick  public  scbools,  of  lovely  walks  and  drives,  o/ 
tociability  and  a  sligbtly  nasal  accent,  of  literar)  culture 
three  daily  and  two  weekly  papers.  Of  thc-^e  journals  thi 
Phénix  is  perbaps  tbe  cbief  ;'  its  editor  is  admitted,  even  bjf 
men  wbo  differ  from  hini  in  politics,  to  be  I  v  ail  odds  the 
"  sinartest"  man.  .  Tbe  Phénix  is  tbe  wo.kingman's  papei  ; 
Jt  advQcate»^ reform  in  factoiie84md foundrig^  aiid  B^mouiau 


il  g*-eat  in  both  ;  goes  in  for  short  bours  and  baK  holidayi, 
and  is  the  deligbt  of  tbe  operatives.     Noith  Baymouth  ii 


lfSWW|''!!9iSPiP«»»** 


46 


l<WG¥rOkTH  OP  THE  PMRmX. 


'      ^^^.  ^"^  r-'^y*  '«  f""  of  tangled  streets,  and  big,  agly  bnci 
buddmgs,  witfi  more  Windows- than^'is  in  tne  king's  house." 
Tairchimneys  that  vomit  black  smoke  ail  day,  and  blot  out 
the  summer  sky,  belch  forth  fieiy  shpwers  at  night,  and  tuni 
it  lund.     Fierce  whistles  go  off  at  noori  and  night,  and  men 
uid  women  pour  forth  from  thèse  big  buildings  and  fill  th« 
itreets  to  overflowing,  on  their  way  to  other  big  bnUdinci 
where  they  go  to  feed.     The  taint  of  the  «moke  and  the  soot 
^  and  the  coal  is  on  everything  in  North  Baymouth-on  green 
l^ee«  and  soft  grass,  on  white  houses  and  tall  church-spires. 
North  Baymouth  isnot  a  handsome  place;  but  handsome  is 
that  handsome  does,  and  ht  sends  carpets  and  cottons,  fur- 
naces  and  ranges,  boilers  and  engines,  ail   over  the  great 
country  to  which  it  is  proud  to  bdong,  and  feeds  hundred. 
of  men,  women,  and  children,  who  nilght  else  go  hungry. 

North  Baymouth  is  not  handsome,  but  Baymouth  propet 
^  ^^^^^  ^<^*the  dry-goods  stores,  hère  is  plate-glass  and 
gildmg,  her^  are  wide,  clean,  tree-shaded  streets  ;  hère  rich 
men  hve  and  ride  in  their  carnages  ;  hère  their  good  ladies 
"walk  in  silk  attire,  and  siller  hae  to  spare  ;  "  and' hère, 
anaong  other  tall  buildings,  is  the  tall  Phénix  building,  with 
editors,  compositors,  and  grimy  boys,  ail  en  desHbiUè,  and* 
too  hot  at  that. 

In   his  sanctum,  in  his  editorial   chair,  in   the  sketchy 
costume  distinctly  mentioned  beforè,  sits  Longworth  of  the 
Phentx.     It  is  not  a  large  room,  but  a  room  three  rimes  the 
iize  could  not  be  more  littered.     This  litter  is  the  mole  re 
raarkable  that  the  walls  are  fuller  of  virttious  knd  orderU 
preccpts  than  a  copy-book.     "  A  Place  for  Evkrythino 
AND  EvERVTHiNO  IN  iTs  Pi^cE  "  is  conspiciiously  pos^ed 
above  the  editor-s  desk.     A  place  for  nothing  and  nothing  in  ' 
«8  place  appears  to  be  the  rule  acted  on.     Wiste-paper 
bajete,  newspapers  old  and  new,  magazines  and  books  fw 
wrieir  j(goc>d  or^aïaccorTïfng  to  thé  temper'Mr.  Lonewonb 
chance*  to  find  hiraself  in),  chairs,  rtool».  pipes.  half-»niok«^    ^ 


'# 


tCfffiWOktH  A)f   THE  PtfRitU 

ogan,  a  heai  of  Clytie  on  a  pedestal  surmounted  by  Mi 
Longworth's  old   blark   velvet   smoking-cap,   a   handsomt 
,     plaster  bust  of  Rosa  Bonheur,  which  some  one  bas  improved 
by  a  charcoal  mustache  ;  heaps  of  letters  brought  by  that 
ii/s  afternoèn  post  and  not  yet  opened  ;  and  amid  this  con- 
fusion worse  confounded  sits  serenel)   the  editpi  himself,  a 
dgar  held  between  his  teeth,  smoking  and  writing  with  a  vlsr 
amount  of  energy.     For  about  twenty  minutes  he  goes  on 
«crape/scrape,  never  pausing  a  second,  growing  so^bsorbed 
tiiat  he  forgets  to  puflF  and  his  cigar  goes  out,  his  face  kind- 
ling  as  a  war-horse  in  the  thick  of  the  fight     Finally,  with  a 
tremendous  flourish,  he  finishes,  falls  back  in  his  chair,  re- 
moves  his  cigar,  and  nods  \n  a  satisfied  way  at  his  work. 

"Thère!"  saysMr.  Longworth,  «  that  wiU  extinguish  tha; 
consummate  ass  of  the  News  for  this  week,  I  flatter  myself. 
Now  for  thèse  books— one,  two,  three,  four,  five  of  them. 
It  is  always  best  to  do  one's  reviewing  before  dinner  ;  hunger 
is  apt  to  make  a  man  clear-sighted  for  little  literary  faihngs, 
and  sharpens  the  edge  of  the  critical  saber.  A  heavy  dinner 
and  a  touch  of  indigestion  are  no  mean  préparations  either 
ni  make  mince-meat  of  this  batch,  and  then  l'U  «o  home 
O'Sullivan!" 

He  «Uses  his  voice.    The  editorial  door  opens,  and  a  short, 
itout  man,  with  a  pen  in  his  hair  and  a  paper  in  his  hand  * 
înters. 

"Didyecall,  chief? 

"Here's  that  settler  I  promised  you  for  Doolittle  of  the 
Air»*,"  says  T-ongworth,  handing  him  the  wet  MSS.  -  to- 
morrow-s  Phénix  leader.  "  l'm  ofT  in  half  an  hour.  Th« 
first  hot  day  always  reduces  my  inteUect  'o  the  co'nsteQc* 
iif  melted  butter.     Inside  pages  printed,  O.  ?"  ' 

"Jusf  gone  down  stairs." 
■  '"Editorial  pi^e madc  upi^^ 


**  Principal  part  in  type,  sir." 
**Wdl  hâve  this  set  np   *t  once. 


m  hnre  t>e  renew 


'JfcS  i*    ï,  ^\i 


i'i 


'4*  LOlfGWORrH   OF   THE   PlT&IflX.  "S 

eolumn  read>  in  half  an  hour  ;  \  shall  niake  shDft  wrtrk  al 
thein,  for  it  is  nearly  dinner  titne.     I  inust  look^over  my 
letters,  too.     Coiue  back  in  half  an  houf  sharp,  CStfllivan." 
«  AU  right,  chief." 

Mr.  O'Sullivan,  called  usually  in  the  office  by  the  capital 
letter  "  O,"  disappears,  and  Longworth,  taking  ùp  one  aâei 
another  of  the  pilç  of  books,  gives  one  rapid,  keen,  p'acticed, 
concise  glance  through  the  pages,  notes  the  style,  th^sub- 
ject,  and  if  a  novel,  as  three  of  them  ajre,  the  plot,  wriWç  a 
critique  of  half  a  dozen  lines  on  each,  damning  one  with 
"faint  praise,"  mildly  sarcastic  with  another,  sardonicallj 
facetious  with  a  third,  sneering  cynically  at  a  fourth,  and  sav- 
agely  ferocious  with  the  last  For,  as  the  thjrty  minutes  end, 
and  Mr.  Longworth's  appetite  grows  clamorous,  censorship 
grows.more  and  more  intolérant  in  direct  ratio:  \%  is  with  a 
weary  gesture  he  pushes  paper,  books,  and  pen  away,  and 
Hses  at  last 

A  tall,  fair  man  this  editor  of  the  Baymouth  Phénix — a 
man  of  thirty,  with  profiise  blond  beard  and  mustache,  a 
fine,  intellectual  face,  ànd  handsome  blue  eyes  with  a  lurking 
suspicion  of  humor  in  them — on  the  whole,  a  well-looking, 
«♦a^-Jy,  and  rather  distinguished  man.   '  ' 

The  doors  open  ;  his  second  in  command,  O'Sullivan,  en- 
ters,  bears  off  th^^ipathingreview,  and  vanishes.  Longworth 
tosses  over  his  letters,  on  office  business  chiefly,  glances 
through  them  with  the  same  rapid,  comprehensive  glance  he 
has  given  the  books,  throws  most  of  them  into  the  waste-pa- 
|)er  basket,  and  out  of  the  sh^f  keeps  only  tWo.  One  of  thèse 
is  in  a  lady's  hand  ;  this  he  naturally  reads  first,  and  as  he 
reads  a  pleascd  expression  cornes  into  his  face — a  face  that 
can  be  as  expression less  as  a  dead  wall,  when  he  wills. 

«  H'm  I  "  he  thinks,  "  that  is  well     She  will  be  hère  befora 
Jthrendof  the  week.    laingtoé  of  it     Bton't  know  any^nt^ 
I  miu  as  T  do  Hester  Hariott.     Perhaps  I  may  meet  har  if 
Wew  York,  and  trare!  down  wiih  her." 


\ 


'\ 


LOUGWGRTH  OF   Tf/E   PHEfTlX. 


4Î 


"  He  iuoks  at  the  second,  pauses  in  the  act  ofoper.ir.g,  '«.iiitt 
his  brows,  turns  it  over,  examines  the  superscription,  as  we« 
an  insanely  do  with  a  letter  that  p'uzzles  us.  «,, 

"Odd,"  he  mutters  ;  "  what  can  he  hâve  tosay  at  thislate 
day  ?     I  nevèr  expected  to  see  his  chirography  again." 

He  breaks  it  open,  and  reads — ^reads  once,  twice,  and  y«!» 
a  third  time. 

**^ivate  and  Confidential." 


*\  "  Maçon,  Ga  ,  May  5th. 

*  Dbam  Mr.  LaotikncB  :  I  hâve  been  tneditating  for  some  time  put 
dropi^ng  yon  a  line  and  a  hint — a  hint,  no  more.  Mrs.  De)[.ter  is  a 
ihrewd  little  wonum  in  her  way,  but  I  think  Mrs.  Dçxter  made  a  mistakc 
in  periuading  Mr.  Longworth  to  send  Mr.  Frank  abroad.  The  uld  gen- 
tleman has  broken  greatly  of  late,  and  whaterer  attachment  he*may  hâve 
had  to  the  lad  (and  it  never  was  very  strong)  absence  has  weakened. 
More  than  once  of  late  he  has  spoken  of  you,  and  always  with  a  touch  of 
r^et.'  He  was  very  fond  of  you,  Mr.  Laurence,  and  very  proud  of  yon 
— he  has  never  been  either  of  young  Dexter.  What  I  wish  to  say  is 
this  :  Can  you  not  by  some  happy  chance  find  yourself  in  this  neighbor- 
hood  shortly,  on  newspaper  or  lecturing  business,  let  us  say  ?  It  would 
be  worth  while  to  take  the  trip.  One  word  from  you  would  blot  out  the 
whole  tmfortunate  past,  and  replace  you  in  your  uncle's  regard.  Will 
yon  corne  and  say  that  word  ?  Dexter  will  be  at  home  in  about  a  month  ; 
■fter  that  it  may  be  toa  late. 

*  Tbis,  of  course,  is  as  unbusiness-Iike  a  letter  as  it  is  possible  to  write. 
97^f  course,  I  would  never  write  it  did  I  not  know  well  of  old  tl-.e 

Muiner  of  man  you  ara  Yours,  etc. , 

"Thomas  Chapmam." 

Longworth  goes  through  this  epistle  for  the  third  time  with 
fl  unchangirl|;  face,  then  slowly  and  thoaghtfully  téars  it  in 
ttle  pièces,  and  consigns  it,  in  a  white  driflt,  to  the  waste-bask- 

rt    There  is  rathei  a  grini  sniile  on  his  face  as  he  puts  or  ni* 

coat  * 


"  Thèy  do  well  whopaînf  Fortune  ^  a  woniàï,^^^ 
*'  She's  a  jadç  no  man  can  trust,  ready  to  kick  yiw  \o-àk} 
ma  kiis  vou  to-morrow  ;  rçady  to  août  you  when  y  u  cour 


/ 


4wMîivvK'>ii>iR>wî«it 


44  LOlfGWCRTH  OF    *-/(£  P/TËUlXi. 

her,  and  fawn  upon  you  whel^oH  snap  your  flngei  in  hei 
face.     Very  lilçe  a  woman,  evei-y  way  you  "talte  hfei." 

Ffoiii  which  cynical  soliloquy  it  may  reasonably^Jje  inferred 
Ihat  Mr.  Loiigworth's  expérience  pf.'  the  fairer  sex,  in  apitc 
-  of  his  good  looks,  has  been  unfortunate.  He  puts  on  His  hat, 
Mid,  in  the  yellow,  tranquil  evening,  goes  home.  His  way 
He.s  through  pleasant,  ehii-shaded  streets,  and  as  he  goes  on, 
leavingthe  noise  and  jar  of  the  town  fax  behind,  there  coraea 
to  him,  mingled  with  the  fragrance  of  mignonette  in  the  gar 
dens  he  passes,  the  sait  breath  of  the  sea. 

Baymouth  is  a  seaport  ;  many  ships  saij  into  its  wide  %ax 
bor  ;  its  wharves  and  docks  ring  with  the  tide  of  commerce; 
and  presently  they  corne  in  views  ridingon  tbp  shining  bosom 
of  the  bay. 

Men  nod  or  stop  to  speak  lo  him  in  passing,  ladies  smile  and 
bow— he  is  a  man  of  note  in  the  town  ;  but  his  face  keeps  a  . 
look  of  reflective  gravity  ail  the  way.     the  hint  in  the  letter 
he  has  just  destroyed  is  no  trivial  one— a  noble  infteritanco 
hangs  on  it.     He  knows  Chapnian,  shrewd  lawyer  and  keen- 
•ighted  business  map  that  he  is,  means  more  than  nieets  the  ' 
eye— has  made  certain  of  his  ground  before  issuing  that  cau- 
tious  "  hint."     He  has  been  for  years  the  légal  adviser  of  his 
uncle.     Is  it  at  that  uncle's  désire  he  writes  now  ?     Long  ago 
Laurence  Longwocjkgave  that  uncle  deadly  offense,  and  lost 
a  fortune.     Than  that  uncle  no  prpud'er  man  exists  on  earth  ; 
beyond  this  hint  dropped  by  his  attorney,  his  nephew  knows 
hc  will  never  go.     And  in  a-aibnth  Dexter  will  be  at  home, 
and  it  may  be  too  late.      /  , 

"  Poor  old  boy  !  "  l^ngworth  muses— meaning  his.unds, 
net  Oexter— "  what.a  trunip  he  used  to  be— what  a  piince'i 
life  I  led  çf  it— what  a  prince's  life  I  night  go  bacTt  to  !  It 
is  ratlier  hard  on  Frank,  though,  to  hoH  a  fortune  and  favoi 
by  only  a  hair." 


■M 

\\  I 


He  reàdies  a  large  white  house,  with  many  green  shutterc 
piaua  or  '•  iioop'"  running  ail  al^ng  the  front    It 


«oa  a 


'îfcl 


r^'^f^?^ 


1 1^  Tî,fc.„f,,  ,^. 


-  / 


lOMGWORTU  OF   THE   I^HENtlX  \\ 

,b|ces  the  sem  and  from  this  stoop,  upon  whici  wickei  dudn 
are  scatter^d,  there  spfeads  a  view  of  the  bay^  glistening  ic  « 
the  ^unset,  wîth  vessels  at  anchor  and;  many  boaf&  î^iding 

.  âboijt."  The  sweèt  sait  wind  blows  înv,  bis  fabé,  and  sdrs  a  - 
greaPhoneysuckle  that  twines  itself  over  Jhe  pUlars.   „Climb^  ' 
ing  roses  in  pink  clusters  hang  bere,  twQ  or  three  large  rose 
of  Sbaron  trees  in  the  grass-plot  in  front  are  in  fdll  leàf 
already.     Ai  pretty  place — such  a  place  as  one  sees  evtry-, 
where  in  New  England.  '  .    - 

Mr.  Longworth  in  his  day — but  it  is  a  day  far  gone,  when 
he  was  very  young,  and  knew  no  better-^ias  been  a  poèt, 
bas  written  and  published  a  yoluine  of  verses.  It  is  one  ol 
Ihose  juvénile  indis%:retions  of  which  we  ail  inay  bave  beeiî 
guilty  in  différent  forms,  and  of  which  in  our  riper  years  we 
are  properly  ashamed.  But^having  been  capablq  of  poetic 
folly  once,  a  litM»?,  a  very  little,  of '^he  old  leaven  lingers,  and 
gives  tbis  hard-headeA  clear-siglited  editor' and  merçiless 
reviewer  a  keen  enjoyment  of  ail  that  is  exquisite  in  nature. 
It  is  unalloyed  pleasure  and  r^est,  for  example,  to  sit  on  thia  ' 
piazza,  with  the  sensuous  sweetness  of  the  honeysuckle  and 
roses  about  him,  the  saline  frpshness  blowing  *n  his  face,  and 
watch  the  bay  yonder  dimplîng  and  blushii  g  in  the  good- 
oight  kiss  of  the  sun.  He  takes  one  of  the  wickcr  chairs, 
tilts  it  back,  lights  a  cigar — hesmokés  as  many  cigars  as  a 

^  Cuban — élevâtes  the  editorial  legs  on  the  railing,  where  th«» 
roses  twine  arpùnd  his  boots^folds  his  arnis,  and  prépares  to 
think  it  out.  To  throw  the  /%<•«/*,  the  pride  of  his  heart 
and  the  apple  of  his  eye,  to  the  dogs— to  be  a  niillionaire  or 
not  a  niillionaire,  that  is  the  question  ;  and,  strançe  to  say=- 
in  this  âge  of  Golden  Calf  worship,  Longworth  actually 
thinks  it  wortti  debadng. 

The  white  house  behind  him  is  very  still.     The  hall<looi 
■t«»jl»  wider  there  is  a  vista  of  long  càfpëtea^ai,  iMngt — 
pîcture  on  each  sijie,  a  hat-rack  adorned  with  many  \  \\t,  and 
t  wide  at^way.     No  sound  reaches  hipi  frora  withi-     but  aa 


/r 


^j~  <     i  -41" 


'  î^\t^^  if   tJiK3&ilk 


46  LOtfGm>RrH  OF   THE   PHSl^lX.    t 

he  Bits  and  stnokes,  some  one  descends  tht  staùL/coinci 
towards  the  open  door,  sees  him,  approaches,  and  lays  « 
/ery  white,  very  plump,  very  lin^ed  hand,  oi.  his  bhouldér 
.  "  Lany,"  sa3is  a  soft  voice.    ' 

\  It  is  a  young  lady— well,  notyery  young  either— cighl  aim} 
-^twenty  perhaps,  and  looking  every  day  of  it,  chiedy  becaose 
~  ihe  is  so  luxuriously  developed.  Fat  is  not  a  word  to  bc 
appUed  to  a  young  lady,  and  if  one  says  inclined  to  enibon 
point,  one  does  not  do  the  truth  strict  justice.  She  is  tall, 
there  is  not  an  angle  anywhere  about  her  ;  she  has  abun- 
dance  of  palest  flaxen  hair.  She  has  two  rather  small,  rathei 
light,  rather  lazy  blue  eyes.  She  has  a  cômplexion  like  a 
bab/s,  milk-white,  satin-sniooth,  and  she  is  dressed  in  white, 
p  knot  of  pale  blue  ribbon  in  her  hair,  a  cluster  of  pale  pink 
foscs  in  her  breast. 

"  Ah— d'ye  do,  Tôt  ?  "  says  Longworth,  glancing  careless 
\j  OMx  his  shoulder.  ««  Infemally — I  beg  your  pardon— 
excessivelyhotjisil't  it?  Those  raerciless  tyrants,  the  print- 
ers,  kept  me  *t  niy  desk,  shrieking  for  copy,  until,  betweei 
the  beat  and  the  jnental  pressure,  I  became  reduced  to  the 
«tate  of  a— ah,  a  lurilted  lily.  I  resemble  a  wilted  lily,  don'l 
I  ?  "  mquires  M j.  Longworth,  gUncing  over  his  shouldei 
■gain.  1 

"  Oh,  yes,,  veryj  like  a  %,"  replies  the  young  lady,  lau^- 
ing  languidly.  «jAre  you  going  to  Emma  Harris's  birthday 
réception  to-nighit  ?  "  ^ 

"  CoiT»dn't— c  juidn't  possibly.    Vou  might  knock  i^Wer 
with  a   Éeather  noW,  so  utterly  p^ostrate  am   T.    Pei^le 
ihouidn't  hav^  birthdays  during  the  summer  solstice." 
.    "People  caÂ't  help  being  born,  I  suppose,"  retorts  the 
jroung  lady,  cavaUerly  addtesscd  as  "  Tôt,"  with  some  iodig 
nation. 

eople  oiigttt  ttflwlj^tfy'Mogmatically  peisists  Mr.  Loflg 
trwth,  who  never  allows  himself  to  be  contradicted,  on  piin 
i%lk  ;  "an('  if  they  aie  obstinate,  «nd  won't,  they  ihoùkb'i 


LOMGWORTH  OF  THE  PBENIX. 


49 


L'# 


expect  other  people  to  victiuiûe  themselves  on  «0:0111.1  of  it 
Totty,  I  am  hungry  ;  {s  dinner  nearly  ready  *  " 

"  The  dinner  hour  is  half-past  six,  you  ought  to  know  b> 
this  tinie,  Mr.  Lonj|worth,  uniess  yesterday's  trip  to  Bcuton 
bas  inipaired  your  memory,"  says  another  voice,  and  ai^othu 
lady  présents  herself,  so  like  the  first,  with  an  additional 
twenty  years  added,  thaï  you  do  not  need  to  look  twiœ  ta 
know  they  are  mother  and  daughter.  "  What  is  this  Mr. 
O'Sullivan  is  saying  about  Vour  going  off  to  New  York  to- 
morrow?"  \r 

"  How  ihould  I  know  ?  r  am  not  en  rapport  with  ail  die 
âiou^ts  which  pass  through  the  gigantic  mind  of  the  O'Sol 
Uvan.    What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  That  you  are  going  to  New  York  to-monrow." 

"Solam."  V 

M  On  busmess ?" 

**  On  business." 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  gone  ?  * 

"  Three  days." 

"I  wish  I  might  go  with  you,"  says  Totty,  plaintively. 
"Mamma,  would  it  be  in^roper  for  me  to  go  to  New  Yofk 
with  Larry,  and  corne  back  with  âm  ?  "     . 

"Eminentiy  impropef,"  says  Larry  himself;  "not  to  be 
thought  of.  My  subscribers  are  moral  people — the  circula 
lion  of  the  Phénix  would  go  down  to  aero  if  they  heard  of 
roch  glaring  immorality." 

*  But  they  need  not  hcar  of  it,"  says  Totty,  stiU  mûre 
plaintively;  "and  three  days  is  such  averylittle  while.  J 
want  to  go  shopping  t»  Stewart's,  and  ihey  are  still  having 
Italian  opéra  at  the  Academy.  .  It  wouldn't  be  any  hann, 
Boamma— if  s — only  Larry.' 

"  Hère  is  Mrs.  Windsor,"  mteirapts  her  motàer,  «ridi  sod- 


HaM^afliuMrtwtn   ^«i>otrt  be  y  siiupletou,  Tti^ 
fOtt  can't  go.    Only  Larry,  indeed  I 
Windsor  would  say  tf  she  héiud  you." 


conriè 
iroodorvltaf  Mi» 


^làiS^A^^^^h-^^  *■: 


iT:"- 


f^i 


ii 


LONGWORTH  Of  fHE    "HSMIX, 


"  What  Mrs.  Windsor  says  is  not  an  act  of  Congresa,"  re 
plies  Totty.  "  She  would  go  with  Larry  to  New  York  fasi 
enough,  or  anywhere  else,  if  he  asked  her." 

AU  this  time  Mr.  Longworth  has  been  placidly  smoking 
and  watching  what  is  going  on  at  the  gâte.  A  low  phaetoo 
and  a  pair  of  well-matched  grays,  driven  by  a  black  boy 
hâve  conie  down  the  street  and  drawn  up  before  the  house. 
In  the  carriage  reclines  a  lady.  The  black  boy  assists  hci 
to  alight,  and  she  enters  the  gâte  and  approaches  the  group 
on  the  piazza.  She  is  a  lady  of  fuUy  sixty  years,  but  stately, 
handsome,  and  upright,  with  a  certain  pride  and  majesty  ol 
bearing,  very  richly  dressed  in  dark,  soundless  silk,  a  vérita- 
ble cashmere  trailing  more  like*  drapery  than  like  a  shawl 
over  hcr  shoulders  and  flowing  sLirts.  '' 

"Looks  like  one  of  Kneller's  or  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds* 
coiut  ladies,"  niurmurs  Longworth;  "makes  a  picture  of 
her^lf  always.  Don't  know  any  one,  anywhere,  such  thor- 
oqghly  good  *  forni  '  as  Mrs.  Windsor." 
.^.ir  Totty  shrugs  her  plump  shoulders. 
/•  "^\^y  <io"''  yo"  tell  her  so?  There  is  no  one  living 
whose  good  opinion  Mrs.  Windsor  values  as  she  does  yours. 
You  are  the  only  man  on  earth  who  would  dare  to  tell  her 
«he  luoked  well.     And  you  know  it" 

Longworth  smiles.     He  would  be  something  less   than 
.nian  if  he  did  not  know  the  wonien  who  like  hini      \nd 
Longworth    is    thoroughly   a    maii,    and    a   man    of   the 
world 

He  rises  as  this  stately  and  distinguished  new-comer  as 

cends  the  steps,  throws  away  his  cigar,  and  takes  off  his  hal, 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Windsor,"  begins  the  lady  of  the  house, 

idvancing  with  effusion,  "so  very  pleased  to  see  you.     I 

httfd  only  yesterday  you  werq  back.     When  did  you  retun 


from  Washington  ?  ** 

"  I  hâve  been  home  a  week.     You  are  looking  well,  Mr» 
I  «igwurth,  but  then  I  think  you  always  do.    Mr*.  Shrldn»  ' 


Y-a. 


.  .7*^» 


;•«-./   .'^^H' 

;• 


LONGWORTH  OF  THE  PBRNIX.  4g. 

,to  Totty),  you  grow  a^very  Hebe.     Ahl  Mr.  Laurence, 
happy  te  uieet  you.    They  told  me  you  had  gone  to  Boston, 
V    ând=|  was  in  doubt  whether  you  had  yet  returned.' 

y  9ie  hoUls  out  her  hand  with  a  slight  smile— a  hand  that  in 
^^i^giber-six  glove  looks  like  a  perfect  hand  in  dark  gray 
mar^e.  .^Her  voice  is  low— a  "trained"  voice— sinooth, 
lùourteous,  cold  as  ice.  The  eyes  that  glance  frora  the  face 
<A  uiother  and  daughter  ate  chill  as  the  «roice,  but  they 
■often  into  quite  ano'lher  expression  so  quickly  when  they 
turn  upon  the  nian,  that  the  change  is-ahnost  staçtlihg. 

"  Only  ran  up  for  a  day  or  two  ;  got  back  this  moming," 
returns  Longworth  in  his  offhand  fashion.  "Going  to 
New  York  to-morrow.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  tbere^ 
Mre.  Windsor?" 

"  Nothing,  thank  you  j  my  own  visit  has  been  too  récent 
Besides,  I  hâve  not  much  faith  in  the  way  gentlemen  fulfiU 
ladies'  commissions.  Mrs.  Shelùon,  I  suppose  you  go  to 
Miss  Harris's  fête  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,  Mrs.  Windsor— naamma  and  I.  Sh«11 
you?" 

Mrs.  Windsor  raises  her  eyebrows  slightly. 

"  I  go  nowhere,  my  dear  Mrs.  Sheldon.  ■  I  grow  an  old 
woman,  you  know,  and  birthday  fêtes  hâve  long  lost  their 
channs.  (Xer  fifly,  one  counts  thèse  anniversaries  by  one's 
gray  hairs  and  wrinkles." 

"  But  we  ail  know  that  Mrs.  Windsor  is  one  of  the  forftinate** 
few  who  never  grow  old,"  says  Mrs. -Longworth  ;  *'and  we 
•*w  your  name  very  often  last  winter  at  the  greal  Washing- 
ton réceptions      Of  course,  though,  the  capital  offers  attiac 
lions  our  poor  country  town  can  never  boast." 

"I  went  out  a  little  last  winter.     Yes,"  responds  Mi* 

^^'Pj«w>coldlyv"  Mr.  Longworth,"  she  w)^  tiiming  to 

Ihe  gentleman,  that  subtle  change  in  face  and  voice,  **•!■' 
«w  going ?"  .    *' 

'^No;  Totty  mutt  make  my  exoifet.     WM  |oa  nf 


•vîî 


50 


LOIfGWORTH  OF   THE  PHRmX, 


«bQut  gray  hairs  and  wrinkles  is  eminenUy  tme.     1  duil) 
•tay  at  home  and  count  mine." 
She  smiles. 

*'  Vou  hâve  no  other  engagement  ?  •• 
"None." 

«Then  do  raethe  favor  to  corne  and  count  the  wrinkle» 
âl  my  house^  I  am  veiy  desiious  of  seeing  you  before  you 
go  to  New  York,  on  a  matter  of— business." 

She  makes  a  pause  before  the  last  word  and  looks  at 
him  as  if  afraid  of  refusai.  Longworth,  however.  does  nol 
renifle.  , , 

"I  spend  my  pleasantest  eveninga  at  your  hoaseJfl|É 
Windsor.    I  shaU  be  glad  to  go."  wKf^ 

She  draws  a  quick  breatt,  as  of  relief,  and  ton»  to 
depar^ 

"  I  shall  expect  you  then.     Perhaps,  though.  you  wiU  let 
me  take  you  with  me  at  once  ?  " 
^'^Not  now  ;  I  shall  présent  myself  about  eight     WiU  that 

"  Certainly.  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Longworth.  How  is  il 
you  never  corne  to  see  me  now  ?  " 

"Many  commercial  gentlemen  and  much  gravy  weigh  on 
her  mmd,"  suggests  Longworth,  "as  they  must  on  aU  the 
niccessors  of  the  immortal  M.  Todgws." 

Yox  this  rose-wreathed  white  house,'  facing  the  bay,  U  a 
boardmg-house,  and  Mrs.  Longworth,  widow,  and  a  distant 
cusm  of  the  editor  of  the  Phénix,  the  lady  who  keeps'it 

Ml».  Wmdsor  does  not  know  "  M.  Todgers  ;"  she  is  nol 
•  lady  addicted  to  novel  reading  of  any  sort,  but  she  smUet 
graciously,  because  the  remark  is  Longworth's,  and  akmlt 
tnd  gracefuUy  moves  away,  re^nteis  ber  canine,  and  ii 
dnvenoff.  ^^  — u  » 


• 


•»  though  it  were  no  att<uual  thing  for  Mn.  Wndiorlowii 
1*11  K. 


'  -JS'iv 


^■f-Vt;-^- 


-*n 


ne.    I  duiU 


the  wrinkles 
1  before  you 

nd  looks  al 
;r,  does  noi 


:^.-"'  '* 


hoase, 


d    taras  to 

yovL  will  let 

WiUthat 

How  is  it 

r  weigh  on 
on  ail  the 

:  bay,  is  a 
I  a  distant 
:eeps'it 
she  is  noi 
she  smilet 
md  slowlj 
ge,  and  ii 


ortowam 


tOif€W0kTB  OP  THM  PHENIX    \  $1 

•♦Do  you  know,"  says  Mrs.  Longworth.  with  a  shoU  laugh. 

what  peoFle  would  say  if  Mrs.  Windsor  were  tfiirty  year, 
rounger?     That  she  wanted  to  marry  Larry  "     f"^ '^""' 

Mr.  Longworth.has  resun,ç.d  his  smoking  anil  his  Juir. 
le  glances  over  his  shouldcr  at  the  speaker 

"Thdfs  a  beastly  remaik,  Mrs.   Longworth,"  t,e  sars 
'  don't  make  it  again."  i^^  wfi, 

"  There's  the  dinner-bell,"  says  Totty.  aud  she  and  hei 
mâmma  vanish  precipitately.  - 

to  Îî^h^"*^"'*  ^T  ^°"^  ^'  '"es  lazily,  gets  ap,  inonnt. 
to  h.s  bed-roo™,  makes  some  improvement  in  his  Let  Ici- 

c'I'orkotd"'    *\^""-b"»  ^-  -g  and  the  sele^^ 
circle  of  boarders  raay  be  waiting,  he  is  néver  in  ahurry. 

Ves,  what  does  she  want  ?  "  he  thinks.     «  It  would  be 

reniarkable  rf  I  received  two  of  Fortune's  kisses  in  o„e  day 

More  remarkable  stiU  if  I  were  forced  to  décline  boX'     '' 

He  descends  to  dinner,  which  is  a  lively   meal.     Mrs 

stnTn^r  °'^""™'^^'^"^  ^-g  P<^^P»«-»>o  hâve 

een  better  days.  offers  ail  the  co.nforts  of  a  home  througb 

the  columns  ofthe  daily  press,  and  ha,  fiftefn  boarders^n 

The  7ZT  -  °;  "^'^  ''^'^^  ^"^  '"^^'^  ^«  exceptions. 
J^fn  .  Z  'f^'"^'  ^"^  '^"Sle  gentleméit  ;^e  th. 
Spartan  rule.  Mr.  Miles  O'SuUivan,  sub-editor  of  the  P^. 
^.,  .ou.ct.megraduateof  Maynooth.  li.Teai'^escendant  ofthe 
Kmgs  of  Kerry,  ,s  one  of  thèse.  It  is  a  prolonged  meal  •  the 
gentlemen  hke  to  sit  and  crack  nuts  and  jokes'togle  .'loi 

room  the  sea-breezen  anse  cool  and  delicious,  and  the  scen' 
of  the  honeysuckle  nearer  and  sweeter  than  ail.  Paint  anj 
to  away  the  singmg  of  some  sailors  floats  on  the  wind  • 
•  new  spnng  moon  shine,  in  the  sky-^ne  brilhant  star,  dam 
J^'f^f^  queen^of  night,  bcid»  i.  fa  the  ^^rf^- 
•^  the  haU  some  one  is  pla>-ing  Thalberg».  «  Last  C7 
•^  the  puno  stops  you  can  hear  the  soft  wash  ofthe  ru.* 
JlOTni«itli«shoic    Longworth  Ucsb»«|  in  bis  duûrj.  do. 


II,  lis 


^<.  <•<  --  ";'  '  •  'i^'rf^^^ijp.TiÇ^I 


ja 


LONGWOlhH  Of  THE  PHSNIX. 


«^er-dinner  mood,  dreamy  and  indolent,  dips  his  wAlnnts  fa 
his  wine,  listens  to  the  other  men,  but  does  not  taik  nivch. 
Presently  the  laughter  and  jokes---very  elderfy  jokes  some 
of  them— ^ow  tiresome,  and  he  rises  ând  returns  to  hi« 
formel  p]açe  and  position  on  the  piazza.  The  board^rs  Ait 
ir.  and  out,  one  or  two  of  the  ladies  are  good  enough  to  sit 
beside  him  and  rally  him  on  his  thoiightfulness.  But  Long 
«orth's  moods  are  well  known,  and  as  a  rule  respected,  ia 
this  sélect  boarding-house. 

"Lariy,"  says  Mrs.  Totty  Sheldon,  coming  out  in  hci 
musliti  dress  and  pink  roses,  and  looking  cool  and  white  in 
the  faint  light,  *«is  it  not*  time  you  were  keeping  your  ap- 
pointment?" 

''Mr.,  Longworth   an   appointment,"     cries  a  yivapiouf 
jroung  matron  ;  "that  acounts  for  his  silent  incivility.     With 
•^a  lady,  I  bet."  - 

"With  i  lady,"  answers  Totty  ;  «  only  a  quarter  of  fe^ht, 
Lanry,  and  she  is  not  a  lady  to  be  kept  waiting." 

Longworth  rises,  still  with  the  dreâiuy  laziness  of  after- 

dinner  upon  him,  picks  up  hîs  hat,  aud  strolls  off,  without 

paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  fair  créatures  around 

hina.     The  volatile  little  matron,  who  is  a  bride,  and  pretty, 

"^  and  used  to  attention,  looks  piqued. 

"Odd  nian,  your  cousin,  Mrs.  Sheldon,"  she  says; 
"souietimes  so  silent  and  glum,  at  others  perfectly  chârming 
to  listen  or  talk  to.  He  is  your  cousin,  is  he  not  ?  " 
•<His  father  and  mine  were,"  Mrs.  Sheldon  answers.|j, 
"And  he  and  Totty  came  very  near  being  soraething 
nearer  anddearer  than  secor  i  cousins,"  interposes  an  cld 
matron  ;  "only  Totty  threw  hirp  over  for  Mr.  Sheldpn." 

"Did  you,  really?"  says  the  bride,  looking  at  her  curi 
ouily.     *•  He  does  not  sçem  like  the  sort  of  man  ohe  could 


-Ihrow  owr.     How  had  you  lh«  iwirage  ?  Snch^a  handsome 


and  dever  fellow  ?  " 
"  Vf  9  wen  onl/  children,"  aays  Totty,  in  a  low  Toioe  ;  bal 


I 
11 

a 


%•■ 


walnuts  h 

talk  nitich. 
okes  soine 
rns  tQ  hit 
oardfrs  Ait 
)ugh  to  sit 
But  Long 
spected.  in 

9ut  in  hei 
1  white  in 
5  your  ap- 

yivaçioui 
ity.     With 

;r  of  feight, 

i  of  after- 
ff,  without 
is  around 
id  pretty, 

ihe    says; 
charining 

nswers.j^, 
ioraething 
es  an  cld 
Ipn." 
her  CUTI 
3he  could 
«mdsôm* 

oiMi  b«i 


LOmWOkTtt  op   TtrÈ  PHEMfX,  53 

ltl!!.7r'K*.'^^  î"""  "^^  ^""««"«'•.  o"t  at  the  long,  slende. 

n:;r„g  te  rbi^^^^  "  '  ^^  ^-^^  ^  ^  ^^  -^  ^ 

"  Tot^  1  "  her  mother  calls  sharply,  coming  suddçnly  fof. 
«rard,  'tf  you  are  going  to  Mrs.  Harris's  to-night.  it  is  tima 
you^  were  dressing,  instead  of  standing  chattering  non,en^ 

Jotty  bîfe»  her  lips,  but  obeys.  Twenty-eight  ànd  a 
widow  though  she  be,  she  stiU  feels  campefled  to  mind  hei 
mother. 

^Mrg.  Longworth  tums,  with  rome  acerbity,  to  the  young 

«Please  do.'t  aMude  to  this  again,  Mrs.  Beckwith.»  Ao 
nyj.  There  was  some  boy-and-girl  foUy  between  Mr.  Long- 
worth and  my  daughter  years  ago,  but  it  was  only  foUy.  I 
dont  approvejf, cousins  marrying-^evetf  distant  cousin.. 
Don't  speak  of  ijt  in  his  presenc>,  I  6èg." 
^The  elder  m^Ôn  Uiughs  softly  and  significantly  to  her- 

"Doe^  not  4,prove  of  cousins  manying,"  she  thinks: 

and  h  was  only  boy-and-girl  foBv,  was  it  ?  How  our  viewi 
diange  as  we  grow  olfler  f  At  leât  it  was  foUy  that  has  cos* 
Mr.  Lîùry  dear."  ., 

The  younger  matron  looks  pnzzled. 
■   "Something  queer  hère?"  she  thinks.     "I  wonder  Mr. 
longworth  likes  to  stay."    But  she  only  bows„and  says: 

Oh,  certamly  noV  and,  as  the  dharm  of  the  stoop  bas 
dëparted  with  Mr,  Longworth,  goesk 

Meantimô,  Mr.  Longwortîi  pureues  his  way,  in  his  «suâl 
teisvely  njanner,  *hroi»h  larious  streets,  untiLhe  com^4e^m  - 


0 


lion  riflïni  «id~two  tidl,Vnd8onie  iroii  gâtes.    Th«  phoB 

l7^  '^^'  like  a  parit  in  this  pale  Ught-it  i»  oitmmftk 
Md  nul  of  laige  **»»•  ^ 


•A*  -« 


■'«■■-■' 


'^.' 


-'  / 


He  ent  itt,  anU  gocs  ap  a  grave!  Mralk,  broad  aoc  «r^  mî^i, 
trees  meeting  oveihead  aad  making  the  daikness  blacknésA 
«inm  tius  arcade  oe  cauriges  into  an  open  space,  the  giai* 
dose-Uipped  and  dotted  mH  Uttle  beds  of  flowen. 

A  daric,  laqgt  hbuse  looms  i^  ^th  lights  shining  'som 
\it»  win4of%  aoto  «  glass  atch  ar»  U:?  hall  doorg.  He 
glançes  at  two  windbw^  *n  ^e  right;  ttuucgh  thèse  the 
îiunplight  shines,  red  and  coiwf'v^'â.ble,  thioag^  lace  curtaini, 
ajïd  se«ms  to  welcome  him  even  bcfbie  bc  enterSi  A  Imge, 
dii^uhioned  brass  knocker  is  on  the  doOM  lisUfir  thls  ^nd 
kno^ka  loiidly. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Il 

THX  810RY  OP  TKI   STONB   MOUSK. 

IHILE  Mr.  Longworth  knocks  and  waits  in  the  itar* 
light  \to  be  adniitted,  a  word  may  be  said  of  thii 
house^nd  the  lady  who  owns  it 
It  has  a  name  Vnd  a  history,  and  is  perhaps  the  onljr  houi* 
m  Baymouth  that^as  either.  It  is  called  the  Stone  House. 
Alany  years  back\there  came  over  ffom  England  a  man 
named  William  Windsor,  a  sturdy  and  thrifly  yeoman,  toléra 
bly  well-to-do  at  hom^,  and  resolute  to  m^e  a  fortune  in  the 
colonies.  He. chose  ^ew  England,  got  a  grant  of  land,  built 
a  log  cabin,  shot  India^is,  tilled  the  soil,  and  led  a  busy  life 
of  it  Time  passed  ;  -th^  révolution  began,  and  this  Ënglish- 
man  shouldered  his  muslèft  and  took  the  side  of  the  çoloniei 
igainst  the  king.  The  war  ended,  and  though  Master  William 
-Windsor  left^m^leg  and  one  ai  tu  un  the  ^field  of  glory^  Iw^ 
letnmed  well  satisfied,  for  «nother  grant  of  land  had  beea 
•waided  him,  and  aU  about  Ua  dwelling  for  manj  and 


'"5®"'" 


roB  sTogy  or  thp.  stosr  ttoustu        %\ 

I  mflç  was  his  Thinking  it  not  wcll  for  raan  to  bé  alonCi 
eren  part  oi  a  man  as  he  now  was,  he  took  unto  himsélf  a 
wife  of  the  daughters  of  the  land — a  blooming  Puritan  oaaiden 
fitf  and  away  too  patriotic  to  refuse  a  one-legged  ht  ro— reared 
a  family,  «md  in  his  old  âge  saw  the  Stone  House  erected  in 
ill  its  strength  and  stateliness  by  his  eldest  son.  Then  he 
died  and  was  gathered  to  his  fathers^  and  years  went  on  and 
Bajrmouth  grew  and  prospered,  and  the  Wjndsors  with  it,  an^ 
they  were  the  wealthiest  and  oldest  family  in  ail  the  town. 
Mills  and  manufactories  arose  on  their  land,  no^ile  timb«r^ 
Irai  eut  down,  and  the  Windsors  need  be  farmer&no  more, 
but  sit  at  home  at  ease  an^  let  their  incgme  flow  in  like  i 
golden  river.  Nobody  knew  exactly  how  rich  the  last  Henry 
Windsor  was  when  he  became  master,  but  enormoUsly,  eveiy- 
body  said.  He  married  a  young  lady  of  Boston,  one  of  the 
fairest  of  ail  its  fair  daughters,  proud  and  uplifted  as  a  young 
queân,  and  brought  her  hoipe  to  the  Stone  House. 

Two  diildren  were  born,  only  two.  Mrs.  Windsor  was 
bom  to  be  a  mother  of  sons<  and  knew  it,  and  was  intensely 
disappointed  to  find  the  younger  of  thèse  two  only  a  girL 
Girls  being  one  of  the  evils  of  this  life  that  cannot  be  cured 
and  must  be  endured,  the  lady  of  the  Stone  House  accepted 
her  fate,  but  bitterly  and  under  protest  to  the  end.  To  her 
sonshe  gave  love,  loyally  and  liberally  and  lavishly,  without 
•tint  oi  measure;  to  her  d^iightB^^  almost  indifférence. 
They  grew up ;  the  son  wen^to  Harvard,  the  daughter  to  a 
,  fashionable  boarding-schoonn  New  York.  Both  hod^done 
crédit  to  their  name  and  their  family,  both  were  handsome  ; 
the  son  was  clever,  and  though  brains  are  a  superfluity  in  the 
ouly  son  of  a  rich  man,  it  stiU  pleased  his  mother  that  he  had 
ttem.  George  was  ninetoen,  Mary  seventee*).  when  th« 
6nt  bloWfeU. 

eu  lu  tsc  pciwii'  oi  an  czveinc(]FnanuM>me  youog  i 
who  arrived  in  Bajrmouth  one  day,  and  sought  an  interneu 
fith  Mrs.  Windsor.     He  was  a  Frenchman,  his  name  Moi| 


/ 


"k- 


àSïli 


r.\ 


î« 


rjn  STOKY  Of  THE  STONR   ffOUSM. 


■îeur  HippolyteLandelle,  his  prc  fcssion  teacner  of  mcxlein  !&& 
guages  at  Madame  Campion's  fashionable  seiuinaiy,  hia  er- 
rand—to  ask  Ilènry  Windsor»  Esquire,  for  the  haud  of  hii 
only  and  richly-dowered  da  ighter. 

To  aay  that  Henry  Windsor  was  strie ke.i  dnmb  by  diii 
tnatchless  audacity  ^ould  do  no  sort  of  justice  to  Iiis  feelmgi 
tïe^t  and  glared  at  the  young  man,  who,  tall  and  slendet, 
with  handsome  olive  face  and  black,  melancholy  eyes,  stopd 
and  awaited  his  answer.  What  that  answer  was  exactly  can 
never  be  told.  "  Our  army  in  l^landers  "  never  swore  harder 
than  Mr.  Henry  Windsor  knew  how  to  do  when  exigency  re- 
quired.  Monsieur  Landelle  must  hâve  found  it  unpleasant, 
for  he  left  the  patemal  mansion  leaden-white  with  passion  and 
wounded  pride. 

Mr.  Windsor  sat  down,  red-hot  with  fury,  and  penned  alet 
ter  to  the  preceptress  of  the  seminary»  which  must  hâve 
shoc^ed  that  élégant  lady  to  the  last  degree.  He  told  her, 
among  several  other  unpleasant  things,  to  keep  his  daughter 
under  lock  and  key  for  the  next  three  days,  at  the  expiration 
of  which  period  he  would  ariive  to  take  her  home. 

Mr.  Windsor  went.  Madame  Campion,  unspeakably  di»- 
trewed,  dismissed  M.  Hippolyte  Landelle,  and  turned  the 
key  upon  Miss  Mary  Windsor.  But  it  is  a  very  old  truisni 
Ûtam^vc  laughs  at  locksmiths.  When  Mr.  Windsor  arrived 
on  the  spot  he  fbund  his  daughter  flown,  and  the  traditional 
note  left  behind  to  say  that  life  withoutr^^rr  Hippolyte  wouU 
net  be  worth  the  living,  that  they  had  been  marrieJ  the  daj 
before,  and  would  sail  in  an  hour  by  the  Havre  steamer. 

Mr.  Windsor  returned  home.  How  bitter  the  blow  to  tfaece 
two  haughty  and  impericis  people  no  /.uraan  being  cvei 
knew.  The  father  was  wounded  both  in  his  pride  and  hii 
k)ye,  for  he  had  been  fond  of  his  one  "  little  maid  ;  "  th« 
jnsthjer  «narted  in  her  pride  alon^Eve^  trace  of  tfaftt  loil- 


dau^hter  was  obliterated,  hername  was  erased  from  the  greal 
làmily   Bible    her  ^xirtndt  in  oil,  her  photographa,  book% 


^  •      * 


r^: 


I     ' 


tWM  STOttY  or  TUE  STOtf]^   ttOUSlÊ: 


4-". 
J 


^7 


ftawingE,  bumed.    She  waj  not  to  be  as  a  da>ugl^eff  djaN^,: 
bat  as  a  daughter  who  had  nevçr  existed.  < 

'fliree  years  later  Mr.  Windsor  died,  and  handsoi)3e  George 
iras  roaster  of  the  Stoné  Hôuse.  ke  was  a  fair-haîrcdyoùng 
giant,  whî  niight  >ell  hâve  been  thé  dariihg  of  it/  mothefi 
hçart— blue-eyed^stalwart,  sunny-faced  as  a  young  Norsé 
|0d.  He  was  fâr  more  than  the  darling  of  hiis  mother— he 
was  her  idol,  the  life  of  hèr  life.  AU  the  love  of  h^r  soîil  she 
gave  him,  and  George,  in  careless  young  man  faidiion,  was 
ftmd  of  his  stately  and  handsome  mother. 

One  night — oh,  dark,and  terrible  night,  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten  I— -||  schooner  drifted  on  some  sunken  rocks  near  the 
lenb^nll  of  the  harbor.  ît  was  winter,  a  night  with  a  gale 
bowling  and  the  cold  deadly — the  two  or  three  poor  fellûwi 
cKnging  to  the  frozen  riggiag  must  be  taken  ofF  at  once  or 
perish.  A  boat  was  manned^  and  George  Windsor,  bravée»., 
génerous,  and  fiiU  of  adventure,  made  one  pf  the  voIuntee^ 
crew.  It  was  desperate  work  to  launch  the  boat,  desperate 
work  to  keçp  her  aâoat  in  that  howlihg  winter  tempest  Al> 
at  once  a  fiercer  blast  than  the  others  struck  her  broadside, 
and  she  went  over.  In  a  moment  they  had  righted  heragain 
in  spite^  of  the  storm,  and  the  freezing  crew  clambered  ia 
AU  but  Geoige  Windsor  1  He  could  not  swim  ;  his  mothe» 
had  always  kept  her  darling  away  from  that  treacherous  bay, 
and  in  the  darkness  he  went  down  like  a  stone.  His  last 
cry  :  «  Save  me,  boys,  l'm  sinking,"  rang  in  the  ears  of  his 
mother  (for  they  told  her)  until  they  were  dead  to  every'tound 
ofearth. 

Sbme  time  that  nîght,  while  she  sat  restlessly  waiting  for 
him,  the  clergyman  of  the  «diurch  she  usually  àttended  came 
dowly  and  sadly  into  her  présence.  How  he  told  hei  he 
hardly  knew.  She  stood  and  heard  him  in  stony  silence,  hei 
2|p*  ft*ed  and  blindj-turAed  from  him  mechanically,  'madc 
iwp  to  the  door,  and  fell  like  a  stdne.  She  was  a  fittonf 
and  had  never  fiûnted  in  ail  her  life  before,  bat  fo; 


^1 


«.    . 


1^ 


«■■;,'■' . 

u'.i 


t 


■'»/:'. 


5*         rjn  sTOMy  op  tus  sto.ve  /êovsb. 


hoMi  she  lay  now  like  the  dead     Perhaps  death  would  hav( 
bè*n  the  greater  roercy  ;  but  life  i^me  back,  and  thex  wèni 

,  awty  and  left  her  alone  with  her  awftil  despair. 

Three  daysafter  they  found  him  washçdashore  soiàemfln 
lower  down,  and  in  twoworé  a  long,  éad  procession  went  eut 
fiom  the  Stone  House,  i  house  from  which  many  dead  mer, 
had  gone-  iThey  laid  in  thé  earth  the  last  of  ail  the  Wind 
•ors,  and  aV  monument  that-  was  a  marvel  of  beauty,  and 

,  Kulpture,  «nd  cosi,  ,waji^re«ted  over  him.     Then  jthe  Stune 
House  was  shut  up,  and  for  six  long  years  Mrs.  Windsor  mw 
♦    it  no  more.    .  » 

A  stem  and^resolute  wonïan  this  Mrs.  Windsor,  a  proncî 
•nd  bitterly  rebellions  one.  Once  in  her  hearing  thatweU 
meaning  clergyman  had  said  :  '  «  ., 

"  It  is  one  of  the  my^terious  dispensations  of  Providence 
She  made  a  god  of  hereon,  and  a  jealous  GÔd  has  taken  him." 

From  that  moment,  in  her  fierce  vindictivdtifess,  she  arrayed 
.  hcrself  against  the  awful  ^rbiter  of  Life  and  Death,  and  nevei 
anril  the  day  of  her  own  death  crossed  th»  threshold  of  a 
church  again. 

George  Windsor  had  been  dead  some  fifleen  ^eare  when 

Laurence  Long^orth  first  Camé  ïo  Baymouth,  bought  out  the 

Phénix,  going  rapidly  to  the  dogs  in  the  hands  of  its  then 

proprietor,  and  estahlished  himself  as  a  permanent  fixture  in 

the  town.     Mrs.  Windsor  had  long  been  back  and  resnmed 

her  old  life— how  unspeakably  lonely  and  desolate  a  lifo  no 

onc  ever  knew.    She  would  hâve  died  in  her  relentless  pride 

sooner  than  let  any  lîving  sonl  see  that  brol^en  and  bleeding 

heart  of  hers.    Tbere  are  some  things  that  not  evài  rime  can 

b^^)— this  was  one.     But  outwardly  there  was  litèle  change,  x 

She  even  went  into  society  more  than  of  old,  and  opened  hei 

hou^e  iqore  frequently  to  her  friends.     And  it  was  at  one  <à 

^se  réunions— a  dinner  party  giren  by  a  magnat»  of  the 


..  j^=cold,  rëpellUBT 

•■d  WftrîAj  dreMo],  was  a  guett  of  diitincti<^i^-that'riM  u4 


#ï 


.'  / 


<« 

^ 


V'.ÎS.T' 


^,  luitlesdjr  aUowing  herself  to  be  tntertainâ.  she  avr- 

"  Se  that'8  the  new  man  of  the  /%^««.     H'm  I  «xil  head 

Ooesn  f  he  look  like  some  one  l've  seen  before  ?" 

foung  Windsor.  (Jon't  you-drowned  some  dozen  year,  ago? 
rher^."'  fi^-'^o'^jPg.  stern-looking  lady  in  blLk  veWet, 
^l^Z^^:  H-escblesGeo^esuflicienUytob; 

^  the  tall.  fa,r-hau.x!  young  man,  leaning  lightly  against  thl 
d«m„ey.p,ccc  and  earnesUy  conv^rsingU  a'iitde  group 

her  brèath  came  quick.     He  was  like  George~so Ve  Aat 

one  of  those  accidentai  resemblances  that  startle  ail  at  rime^ 
ajnd  yet  she  could  hardly  hâve  defined  where  it  lay.  ^ 
«Jades  of  haïr,  eyes,  and  skin  were  the  same  ;  the  figure  ot 

tl'Zir^  r/*"'  '"^  ^^'^^^  ^  ««°^g«'«  ï'^  been  ;. 
even  a  sUbtle  tnck  of  smile  and  glance  thât  her  boy  had  had, 
this  stranger  possessed.  /         •««, 

It  troubled  her  atfirst;  gnu'ually,  as  '  they  met  rftener  >t 
comforted  her.  and  at  last.  after  years  of  ac'quaintanceshi  " 

h^  that  she  would  once  hâve  thought  it  sacrilège  to  fill. 
People  began  to  observe  her  marked  partiality  for  the  young 
«Ator.«d  to  sm.le  «d  opine  that  his  fortune  was  Lad.' 
m^  aSoUivan  one  day-^ot  long  bcfore  >.  night  «po« 
which  Longworft  stanfc  .««ing  for  admittance  befOr«\h. 
Stonr  H9iM<fe_^gMhe^g^ef»i  «plnioft4nto  w^dg: 


Upon  ,„c  ionsdencî.  Larry.  'ris  bettcr  to  be  bore  lockf 
•■  nch.     Here'f  the  Widow  Windsor,  long  Ufe  to  h^ 


\ 


iUL.^.  ■ 


n 


6b 


A  FO/NT  OF  HOMOM. 


letdjr  to  lave  you  everything  she's  worth  in  the  wcrid  tf  yt 
behave  yourself.     And  a  mighty  pretty  penny  it  must  be." 

"  I  i^ouldn't  take  it,"  replies  Longworth,  cooUy. 

"  Ye  wouldn't,  wouldn't  ye  ?    And  why,  if  it'«  plaiibg  to 

"  Mrs.  Windsor  has  her  natural  heirs— her  daughter  aod 
her  daughter's  children." 

"  Mighty  unnatural  ones  if  aU  I  hear  be  tnit.  Sure,  tb« 
daughter  ran  away  with  a  Fiinchman— the  lird  look  on  ber  \ 
—and  has  been  disowned  this  many  a  day." 

•'  That  is  nothing  to  me.  I  would  not  accept  Mrs.  Wind- 
■«'s  money  while  they  are  alive  to  claim  it." 

"Oh  I  then,  by  this  and  that,  I  wish  a  widow  woman  oi 
•nyother  womân  would  offer  me  a  fortune.  It's  twice— ycs, 
faith,  ^aybe  three  tinies,  Td  be  thinking  before  I  threw  it 
back  in  her  face." 

"You  would  do  precisely  as  I  would  do,  O.  You  couldn't 
take  it.  Bût  doesn't  it  strike  you  that  this  is  an  uncommohly 
cheeky,  premat|tfe  discussion  ?  It  is  never  well  to  refuse 
before  one  is  ^ed." 


What  Mr. 
one  knows.     Siî 
ters  stand  this 
knocks  at  Mrs.  #in 


'thînks  about  his  chances  himself,  no 
îhis  gentleifaan's  forte.     But  so  mat 

night,  upon  which  he  sUnds  and 

t<i!>or. 


-•u. 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  POIMT  or  HONOK. 


^-- 


-t 


MIi:)I)LÉ-AGED  woman-servant  admits  Wni,  and       ; 
Longworth  enters  »  long,  low,  very  spacious  hall,     à. 


-solirycarpëfed,hung  with  i-icfi  pictures,  and  adomed 
oo  eJthe*  side  by  a  st*'m  Roman  soldier  in  bronze,  leaoiiM 


^i&fAr    ïà       ^i' 


__    *^^l       JfcJ^W-*^ 


.M' 


■■.■»Tfe. 


■<  JV/MT  or  irojnii. 


«I 


Th.™,,!,  ou  the  threAold  of  whici,  he  «u»b  fora^ 

«me  l«ge  album,  «d  Books  of  B«u,ty,  but  not  anoA« 

*=  -r,  the  ligh.  6UU  soft  aad  rtaded,  w«Ith  and  «finrf 
women  love  ;  some  point  lace  at  the  throa.  is  caught  with  oTe 

s^U':::Ki"tvefa"r'rT/'"'^'' "^'^ 

Lm-       Jiatef         over  a  roll,  and  adds  to  the  sever*. 
"  vt»  ,ï*^        ""l"'""''  "  *'  8ives  hîm  her  haad       ■ 

woj^,.  »  so  test,»;,  d»,  ;hX^::n  j2«  » 

"«bebetween  U.eir  fingers.    Mrs.  Windsor  Jrao^oTl— 
^iTHcàffiitibr  hours  with  thos.  whi.e  l^T^W^ 
toeyesMcloscd.  withou,  the  necri,,»,  rfuj^ 


i*  *  /  «ICu^^VW^  «wi-*  i  . 


ta 


/- 


A  PVIST  or  HOSOR, 


V 


Longwoith  has  a  chair  in  this  room,  lacred  foi  the  paît 
two  years  to  his  use,  a  very  comfortable  and  caressing  chair, 
ihdeed.  jind  into  its  open  arnis  he  consigns  himself  vnow, 
leans  his  blonde  head  against  its  azuré  back  with  a  feelihg  he 
has  often  had  before — that  this  room  is  a  very  comforting  and 
restful  place,  and  Mrs.  Windsor  une  of  the^most  thoroughly 
«atisfactory  women  he  has  ever  met.  As  she  sits  before 
him  in  hcr  lustrons  silks  and  jewels,  her  serene,  high-bred 
(ace  and  tt  tinante  voice,  she  has  ail  the  "  stilly  tranquil  " 
manner  of  a  real  grand  dame.  At  sixty  she  is  a  woman  to 
^^.tommand  admiration,  and  Longworth  admires  her  ;  but  it  ii 
■urely  a  deeper  and  stronger  feeling  that  looks  out  of  her 
eyes  apon  him.  If  she  ever  gave  her  lost  idol  greater  love, 
then  indeed  she  must  hâve  loved  beyond  the  love  ol 
inothers. 

They  talk  for  a  time  after  the  desultory  fashion  of  friends. 
She  tells  him  of  her  winter  in  Washington,  and  of  the  celeb- 
rities,  foreign,  political,  literary,  and  musical,  she»  has  met 
there.  But  her  usual  animation  is  wanting  ;  it  is  not  to  talk 
of  thèse  things  she  has  asked  him  to  corne  hère.  She  is 
rarely  at  a  loss,  but  she  seems  to  be  somewhat  so  to-night, 
and  it  is  Mr.  Longwjrth  himself  who,  as  the  clock  strikei 
nine,  breaks  the  ice. 

"  You  made  sonie  allusion  to  business  this  afternoon,"  he 
lays.  "  Is  it  anything^^in  which  I  can  be  of  service?  Any 
'hmg  about  the  niills^ " 

"  Nothing  about  the  niills.  Thompson  is  a  very  com 
^tent  man  of  busines|,  and  sees  to  that.  l^urence,  when  I 
iras  in  VVashington,  I  made  my  wil^" 

She  says  it  abruptly.  Longworth,  lying  back  easily,  loop- 
ing and  uniooping  his  watch-chain,  lifts  his  eyebrows. 

"Always  a  wise  précaution,"  he  answcrs,  "but  in  yot 
case  qiiite  prématuré.  Still,  it  is  well  to  hâve  ^eie  tlùag» 
Mttled  and  done  with." 

**  And,  Laurence,  I  havc  njade  yoa  ny  bdr.'* 


\ 


:  -S^^.^k^'^Â^Ml^^^^^ 


'jr\'^li'i.'""-'î'  '■'^•'^ 


A  POINT  OF  HONOR. 


«J 


\ 


it  has  come.  In  spite  of  her  mark^d  #^i«ili:y  for  hia. 
«rhich  he  understands  and  which  touches  iin,-k  spite  oi 
O  Sulhvan's  words,  he  has  hardly  ever  glanced  at  this  posai 
biUly  He  is  a  man  absorbed  in  his  work,  work  which  suit- 
him  thoroughly  ;  he  l|b  no  especial  ambition  for  sudden  and 
jreat  wcalih.  Yet  sudden  and  gfeat  wealth  is  offered  hira 
hère.  Hc  sifsquite  still,  and  there  is  a  brief  silence,  ba 
face  shghtly  agitated,  his  showing  ao  shadow  of  change.  Al 
last  :  " 

"  I  am  sorrj  to  hear  this,"  are  his  first  wordi.     «  It  can- 
not  be.     I  ani  deeply  grateful,  but  it  cannot  be." 
"Whynot?" 
•^Dear  madam,  do  you  need  to  ask  ?    You  hâve  a  daugh^ 

-  I  hâve  no  daughter,"  she  interrupts.  hér  voice  low  and 
cold.  I  hâve  had  none  for  twenty-one  years.  I  hav- 
doubly  none  now,  for  she  is  dead." 

"  Is  she  dead  ?    I  regret  to  hear  that" 

*«  I  do  not,"  says  Mrs.  Windsor,  icily. 

"But  she  has  left  children-you  menrioned  thefact  to  me 
once  yourself.  She  has  left  daughters,  and  your  daughtei^» 
daughters  are  your  heirs— not  17  " 

"The  daughters  of  the  Frenchman,  LandeUe,  will  nevei 
inherit  a  penny  of  mine." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Windsor,  pardon  me-they  ought,  they 
must.  They  are  the  last  of  your  line  ;  your  blood  is  theirs. 
Do  not  v.s.t  the  sin  of  their  father,  if  sin  it  was,  upon  them 
In  any  case  I  shall  not  usurp  their  right." 

*'  You  absolutely  refuse  ?" 

"  I  absolutely  refuse.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  t^ 
takÇ  tins  mhentance  of  your  grand-daughters." 

•lYoujre^pagn|Qunous»''^she  says,  witfi  i  brief  and  ▼«,= 
Mjter  laugh.     "  You  are  one  of  the  world's  wohde«-«  mai 
Wio  can  rçfuse  a  fortune." 

*  I  don'»  think  I  stand  alone,"  he  says,  caoUy.     ••  rhial 


'"^1 

^11  ï 


Jk^ 


'*J 


64  A   POINT  OF  HONOR. 

bettet  of  niankind,  my  dear  madame.  I  fanc)  I  know  lOiiH 
men  who  would  décline  to  rob  two  orphan  girls  of  theii 
birthright     It  must  be  theirs,  dear  lady,  not  mine." 

"It  shall  never  be  theirs,"  she  retorts,  cold,  repreised 
passion  in  her  tone  ;  "  they  were  nothing,  less  than  nothing 
to  me  before.  If  you  persist  in  thwarting  me  for  their  saket, 
jrou  will  niake  me  absolutely  hâte  them." 

••  I  must  persist,  and  you  will  not  hâte  them.  Do  you  not 
•ee  I  would  be  utterly  unworthy  of  the  regard  with  whidi 
you  honor  me,  if  I  do  this.  In  your  heart  you  nould  des)ise 
me,  and  your  contempt  would  be  as  nothing  to  the  contempt 

I  would  feel  for  niyself.  It  is  best  for  a  man  to  stand  ï^ll 
with  himself.  I  would  be  simply  robbing  your  grand-daugh- 
ters  if  I  accepted  their  rightful  inheritance— be  nothing  better 
than  any  other  thief.  I  feel  ail  your  great  goodness,  believe 
me — feel  it  so  deeply  that  I  hâve  no  words  to  thank  you  ; 
but  if,  indeed" — his  voice  gfows  low  and  tender— "you  give 
me  some  of  that  affection  you  once  gave  your  son,  let  me 
use  it  to  plead  for  your  grandchildren.  Send  for  theui,  bring 
them  hère,  if  their  father  will  resign  them,  and  my  word  for 
it  love  will  foUow,  and  the  right  will  be  done." 

"  Their  father  is  dead,"  she  says,  drearily. 

"  And  they  stand  in  the  world  quite  alone.  Then  truly  it 
u  time  they  were  hère.  This  is  their  home,  you  are  their 
mother.  Forget  the  past,  let  death  blot  it  out  ;  send  foi 
th««;  young  ladies,  and  let  them  be  the  comfort  and  blcssing 

II  your  la  ter  life." 

'.ls<  sits,  her  quiet  hands  folded,  stimg — deeply  stung  in 
ter  aftbction  for  this  man,  and  in  her  pride.  He  sees  the 
diaiaonds  darting  rays  of  fire  On  her  fingers  and  at  her  throati 
lees'the  hard,  cold  look  that  stemly  sets  her  face. 

"  This  is  your  final  and  absolute  décision  ?  "  she  a.ik»  in  1 


lowlrmce.    •«YouwîHndrthihk  tmcè— yo^^ 
four  mind  ?  " 
«*  I  wiU  not  change  mjr  mind.    It  is  nniply  inpoeriM»" 


X 


iù^^m^t^k-^^- 


r  ■Jti-'^^M:^2  ..  •*«.% 


,  -.  -L-.k,f«fi^«ï,àufeW^ttiaai&^;u!^^i^&4«J^.^i^:W-..4)VUr^4W' 


«^ 


A  potNT  or  aONOK 


6! 


*  Not  cven,"  ghe  says,  looking  at  him  fixcdly,  «  if  I  refuse 
cncc  and  for  ail  to  hav<ithese  French  girls  hcre,  ai.d  leave 
the  fortune  you  i^espise  to  the  town?  " 

"Noteventhen.     Nothing  can  alter  in  the  slightest  deeree 
^  tùe  décision  I  hâve  just  expressed." 

'  ^'^v'J't  """^^^^  *  "'^"  °^  "■°'*  «"old,"  she  says,  #itb 
Aa  slighti  bitter  smile.  «  Wéll.  I  wiU  not  press  the  n.atter. 
Only  one  point^ore.  Suppose  at  my  death  the  wUl  I  hâve 
lust  made  is  found  intact — what  then  ?  " 

"  Tfcen  it  will  become  my  duty  to  search  out  yôur  grand 
daughters,  and  transfer  it  to  them  without  an  hour's  loss  o( 
hme. 

"VeiyweU."  She  takes  from  the  pocket  of  her  dress  • 
•fletter,  removes  the  envelope,  and  passes  it  to  him.  "Read 
.  tlBR,"  she  says,  briefly. 

Longworth  obeys-it  is  written  in  délicate  féminine  tniceiy, 
•and  u  bnef  enough  : 

„M  _  "^NDOM,  April  i7th,  I»-.. 

MAQAMK  OCR  Grandmother:  Two  months  ago  our  father  died 
"d  h,s  l.tat  wiih  wa»,  that  we  wouW  write  this  letter  and  go  to  von.' 
iUl  the  letters  we  hâve  sent  hâve  been  unanswered,  even  thatwritte» 
byo„r.mother  on  her  death-bed,  beseeching  you  to  take  pity  «relier 
duldren.     Under  thèse  circumstances  we  would  not  force  oursel^--— - 


you  had  we  any  oUier  home,  but  our  aunt  in  Rouen  is  also  dead^^ 
«e  our  .Ole  remAing  parent  ;  yours  is  the  only  home,  the  only  protêt- 
Hon  we  can  claim  on  earth.  We  corne  io  you  thcrcfore.  We  will  saH 
from^verpool  for  New  York  early  in  May.  and  ,f  you  will  hâve  the 
loodness  to  send  soni#x»ne  to  meet  us  there  we  will  be  deeply  gratefuî 
Wedenie  to  know  and  to  love  you,  madame,  and  with  the  mort  «flw. 
tionate  lentunenU  we  are,  your  granddaughter., 


# 


pMiARU  AMD  RKINX  JLufDUXB." 


Longworth  finisbes  the  |jetter  and  looks  up  with  a  hall 


"Did  you  ever  read  anything  more  coolly  audacious?" 
■le  (femands  ir.  suppressed  anger. 
•*It  il  a  cool  production,  certainly  ;  iti  author  I  judge  (« 


''à^-^^kii^i^,.  i^û^iki 


Ee^»^.^  Vî^iitiu 


ih4\> 


m^.. 


■f- 


rr' 


' ." 


A  FOlN-f  Ot  HOSOR. 


De  an  eminenUjr  self-posséssed  and  resolute  yuung  ladj 
Still  she  i^  quitc  ri^ht.  ishe  obeys  the  dying  wnhet  crf 
her  parents,  and  cornes,  as  she  says,"  to  \Àx7  lightfu] 
home." 

"  I  deniy  her  right  Her  parents  had  no  shadow  of  dsiim 
npon  rae,  and  neithçr  hâve  the  demoiselles  Ijindclle." 

•'  Hâve  you  ansWered  this  letter  ?  "  asks  Longworth,  kxA 
œg  at  it  curiously. 
"  Certainly  not" 

"Then  they  may  even  now  be  on  their  way  hère." 
"  They  are  not  only  on  their  way,  but  their  steamer  is  due 
m  New  York  the  day  after  to-morrow.    They  cabled  at  start 
ing,  like  a  pair  of  princesses."  - 

*'  Had  I  accepted  youi'  offer,"  he  says,  still  half  «niling. 
" how  would/ou  hâve  acted  in  this  complication  ?" 

"There  would  hâve  been  no  complication.  Had  yoii  ac- 
cepted my  offer,  as  you  would  hâve  donc  were  you  a  wise 
raan,  I  would  not  hâve  shoyvn  you  this  letter^  I  would  hâve 
gone  to  New  York,  met  them,  then  taken  a  retuni  passage 
for  them  in  the  next  ship,  and  sent  them  back  where  they 

came  from."  V "         ^ 

'•  Madame,  you  would  not  hâve  been  so  cruel  I  "' 
'♦Do  you  call  it  cruel  ?  This  beggar,  Landelle,  carried  off 
my  daughter,  a  silly  fool  bf  seventeen,  for  her  fortune,  hopjng, 
no  doubt,  that,  like  stage  parents,  the  flinty  father  and  molhei 
would  relent.  He  robbed  me  of  my  daughter— why  should 
I  rcceive  his  ?  I  might  not  hâve  sent  them  back  penniless  , 
I  might  hâve  settled  a  life  ahnuity  upon  each,  and  am  ready 
to  do  so  slill  if  you  will  do  as  I  désire.  Think  it  over,  Lau- 
rence— it  is  no  bagatelle  of  a  few  thousands  you  are  rcject- 
ing— and  I  will  send  them  back.  ^  I  do  n-tt  want  them  hert 
Vou  hâve  only  to  say  the  word." 


— «1  would  be  a  brute  amï  a  sconndrel  if  I  laid  it,    DiTiidr 
let  us  speak  of  the  inheritancc  again.     Let  us  consider  that 
qucïtion  forever  at  lesi.     Your  granddaugljtcri  luuii  corn* 


*''.'*  i*" 


■ 
h 


=Tl 


A  POÏNT    OF  HO.  fOR. 


'UDg  ladj 
wnhet  of 

w  oî  cl^m 

lie." 

Drth^loiA 


e." 

mer  is  due   '  ' 
datstart 

if  vniling. 
ti 

d  yoii  ac- 
i\x  a  wise 
ouldhave  , 
^  passage 
hère  they 


:arried  off 
e,  hoping, 
id  mother 
ly  should 
lenniless  ; 
atn  rcady 
ver,  Lau- 
re  rcject- 
lem  herâ: 


6/ 

I  ^tronder, 


*ad  they  must  be  met  in  New  York  as  thcy  say 
Djr  the  by,  wliat  steamer  they  cross  in  ?  " 
"The  Ilesperia,"  -  ^ 

_  «The    Hesperial     AVhy.  fhat  is    Miss    Har  Mfs     shin 
They  wil!  hâve  crossea  together."  ,  /  ^' 

"Probably."    says  Mrs.  Windsor.     She  does  r  .t  (ike  Mis, 
Hanott--they  are  Of  différent  orders  of  women,  and  perhl  " 
Withoutknowmg  ,t  she  is  jealo^  of  Long.orth 's  regaS.^ 
I  Wh  our  discussion  ends  hère  ?  "  she  says,  c^lmly  after 
Vshort  sdence.      «You  refuse  my  offer,  and  thèse    '1: 

rrtremTr  f;-  ^-^-^'>.-»>ou  bethe  onf 
lo  meet  thera  i^  I  would  not  trouble  you,  but  that  you  teU 
meyouaregoingtoNewYork."  mat  you  teU 

«  It  wiU  be  no  trouble  ;  it  will  be  a  ^eat  pleasure.     Ye^ 
I  wfll  meet  them  and  bring  thera  home  "  ^ 

And  then  silence  falls,  and  in  that  silence  the  clock  on  the 
«nantel  stnkes  ten.     Longworth  rises. 

cl!^^T"'^^î'^^'''  *'^"  ï  ^'»  «et  to  bed  betime. 

"Good-by  "  she  says,  and  rises  and  looks  full  in  his  eye* 
"You  hâve  djsappointed  me  more  bitterly  to-night,  Lal^ 
than  I  ever  thought  mortal  man  could  do  again  -  ^ 

'  But  you  do  not  care  fori|Éithe  less  I  know  "  h.  .« 
"Vour  regard  is  something^d v::;;':!^ ^^TZZ 
afford  td  lose  it     ïïow  truly  I  return  it,  how  irofo^nd  ^ 
my  gratitude  to.night.it  would  be  useless  formeT^  " 
«c».     I-rom  my  heart  I  thank  you."        '    ^  ^ 

the  least  demonstrarigfepf  men^  to  most  «Jfeh^  fa  "  14 
«len^  self^cntered,  afthis  Jdowed  mM  'îl'"* 
2^  j"  alyays  seiemed  in  hi»  ^^        * 


^ï-- 


eyei^A 


^hingr 

He  is  out  once  more  in  the  «tiU  tUrlighl.  wioi 
■nd  wann,  •    »      « 


* 


X-. 


Do  noT 

lider  tUai 

UtiCOOM 


4' 


•  »-j  ^ 


'¥^ 


t    'V* 


6S 


Ql^4feA 'r<*  d^ine 


^f 


jcs,  it  is  rathei 
--'m.î^  <-■    ^^^^^^  sèems  to  hiin  no  partlculai 

he^|^Pl%— nothîï^^ipre  than  ariy  liian  of  |j^ncîple  tnight  (la 
Hé  wo^ld  like  well  eiîiQligh  to  b^^j^ÉJiiîan,  but  not  at  the 


Ifheht^l 


m 


ior,;il"l| 


ithefcode  than  the  jld 


'^^■ 


^not^^Çhristian  gentleman 
»Mm  to  do  as  he  Juu. 


II 


COSt   01 

Pagan 

that  code  qfth< 

done-  totrnîgl^^ 

"I  niay  as  well  write  to  Çhapman,  too,"  he  thinks,  *'  and 
make  an  end  of  it._  My  uncle  took  mç  up  twenty  years  ago, 
J^d  let  me  go  ^Mrifi  on  the  world  after — my  own  fault,  i 
knoAr,  but  ft  is  f^ther  late  in  the  dây  to  tvhistle  me  back.. 
Now  Ue  has  tak^  up  young  Dexter,  and,  when  the  whini 
seizes  hiin,  is  reî^.  to  throw  him  to  the  dogs  and  reinstate 
me.  How  long  \v(ftild  I  hold  his  favor,  I  wonder  ?  and  if  I 
were  sent  into  aute»  darkh&ss  a  second  time,  who  would  bo 
heir-apparent  nymb^ÉW  three  ?  So  I  am  to  nieet  grandmam 
ma's  grapddaughters  !  Humph  i  Mrs.  Windsor's  grand- 
daughter^  ought  to  blé  prétty." 

He  reaches  home,  lets  himself  in,  and  goes  up  to  his  rooni 

at  once.     They  are  singing  and  playing  cards  in  the  parlor, 

but  he  feels  in  no  moed  for  music  or  cards,     His  room  is  a 

'large,  airy, iront  chamber,  the  wallff  {Jik^Tugh  with  books, 

'  a  few  fine  engravings  hung  among  them.     He  turns  up  the 

gas,  sits  down,  and  dashes  off  his  letter  on  the  spot. 

"■'_■'  "Baymouth,  Mass.,  May  20,  18—. 

'  "ÔSAk  Chapmam  :  Qaite  impossible  for  me  to  go  South  this  yeu 
Oould  not  think  of  stealing  down  in  Frank  Dexter's  absence  and  sup 
planting  him.  Would  it  not  rathcr  look  Hke  the  wv-rk  of  a  sneak  i 
Sony  to  hear  the  gove^or  is  breaking.     Should  like  to  see  him  i^)# 


nsely,  and  shake 
Havf  nbt  the  slight^ 
Jjnf f,out  to  Aght 


Is,^  if  I  could.     But  r  cannot,  as  things  uie.« 
ftling  toward  him  ;,'I  consider  his  letting  me 
^handed  aj  the  Tcry  bcstUiiog  .he  ÇMT  did^ 


"i.  \ 


*■ 


\é^ 


f 


m»^  Al  toi 
m«id  aot  de"' 
■teakt,  «od 


|ind  Dexter's  back  and  trying  to  curry  favor,  1 
fto#«,    ThiC  Pkèkix  keeps  n>e  in  bread,  and  beef 
at  présent  I  ask  no  more.  -I^Waiting  for  émi 


■^^mii<^ki£^,^tà^S 


^did. 


ÙRAtrDUiÂMMjfS  GkANDDAVGftTÈRS. 


^ 


^f" 


^« 


»  j  j  ..io«i  would  ncTcr  aîgree  with  my  constitution.  Dexter's  a  likel^ 
fOQVif  .ellowr  besides.  aijd,  as  his  mother  has  wçrjceo  so  hard  for  ■  for- 
tnné,  1  think  he  ought  to  hâve  it.  My  uncle  has  no  :ight  tP  bring  him 
«pa  prince  wnd  turn  hira  out  a  pauper.  So  I  capnot  go,  Chapmaar 
^tttï^^the  s-nie,*l  am  obliged  to  yott,  and  rèmam  as  ever,  eta, 
"  '  "  Lal'hence  Longwc  rth." 

'*  P.  S.  — Lei  me  know  if  there  is  any" danger.  I^should  not.like  thc 
JMT  old  uncle  to  go  .nthout  one  good-by.  He  wa»  awfully  good  to  im 
<•  «hc  oU  dayi.  L.  L." 


CHAPTER  VI. 


_\, 


,       ORAIft'UAMilfA'S   GRANDDAUGRTKRS. 

R.  LONGWORTH  is  up  betimes  next  mdrning, 
.md  on  his  way  to  the  office.  He  has  a  few  letteri 
to  answer,.and  insCructions  to  givè  to  hi^  chief  staff 
officer,  O'Siillivan.  Thèse  do  not  occupy  him  long;  as. 
eight  strikes  he  is  standing  on  the  piazza  of  thè  white  hoiise, 
Icioking  out  over  the  broad  bay,  with  its  mliltitudinous  waves 
fla^hing  in  the  suushine,  and  listening  to  the  shrill  chatter- 
ing  of  thc  little  brown  sparrows  in  the  trees.  Suddenly 
a  hateh,  discordant  voice  breaks  the  sylvan  silence  crcakiri^ 
his  name. 

•*  I.arry  I  Larry  I  Larry  !  "  shiicks  this  hoarse  voicè. 
"Kiss  jnej  Larry  l'  You're  a  fool,  LorrvI  you're  a  fool  I 
Oh,  demmit  I"     "'  '  ,      -» 

"  Ah  !  you're  there,  are  you  ?"  sayk  Loiigworth,  glancing 
At  an  upper  window  where  the  anthor  of  thèse  renarks  siti 
iti  the  Sun. 


—  "You're  a^taoft,T:.»Tysr  y TJôI,  à  foon    Oh  derinutT 
facrié  bleuf  donner  ànd  blitzenl     You'ie  a  *»ol  I  joi're  • 
fooir 


\\      fs 


'     T- 


\ 


«<•  4t. 


i..iit 


V  >* 


70  GRANDiiAMMJtS  GXAffDDAUGHTBRS, 

,    lAjngworth's  response  to  this  torrent  of  bad  langiiage  il  i 
frin.     He  turns,  looks  up.  and  nods  familiarly. 

••  Good-morning,  PoUy  ;  you're  in  a  heavenly  temper  thii 
morning  as  usual,t  see.     I  shall  hâve  to  go  and  see  aboal 
your  breakfas^or  you  will  çurse  up  hill  and  down  dale  foi 
/  die  rcst  of  the  day," 

j  ^  For  the  speaker  is  a  parrot,  in  a  large,  gilded  cage— a 
bîid  whose  looks  are  handsomer  than  hèr  conversation,  aa 
she  swings  with  her  red  head  on  one  side,  her  blaek  eye 
ficrcely  cocked,  a  bird  of  tenacious  black  claws,  dangerous 
black  bill,  breast  of  brilliantVeen  and  gold,  fail  and  wings 
vivid  crimson  and  blue.  Poily's  principal  command  of  lan- 
guageis'in  English,bùt  shecan  swearwith  admirable  fluency 
in  two  or  three  other  langiiages.  She  is  the  pupil  and  prop 
erty  of  Frank  Dexter,  who  bought  her,  iipon  the  occasion 
of  bis  last  visit  to  Baymouth,  from  a  Dutch  skipper,  devoted 
a  couple  of^weeks  exclusively  to  her  éducation,  and  left  her 
as  a  precious  legacy  and  solace  of  hit  leisure  hours  to  his 
cousin,  Longworth.  She  is  still  screaniing,  "  Kiss  me, 
Larry  !  You're  a  fool,  Larrjr  1  Sacré  bleu  !  Oh,  deramit  I» 
wheft  that  gentleman  disappears. 

Mr.  Longworth  reac|ià  New  York  by  nightfall,  and  spends 
the  evening  at  one  of  the  theaters.  He, attends  to  the 
business  that  has  brought  him  next  day,  ascertains  th^t  the 
H^wria  will  not  reach  her  pier  until  eleven  to  niorfow, 
visits  a  few  fnonds,  and  dines  with  sundry  congenial  soûls  at 
a  literary  cfub  to  which  he  belongs. 

Next  day,  at  eleven  sharp,  he  is  dowh  on. the  pier  wait 
ing  for  the  Hesperia,  and  grandmamma's  granddaughters 
Punctual  as  he  is,  the  Hesperia  is  still  more  piinctual.  SliT 
is  there  before  him,  and  her  passengers  are  hurrying  in  wild 
hast^  hither  and  thithet.  Longworth  boards  her,  glances 
abolit  for  anyyoung  ladi?s  likelyto  answer  the^^a  h.^  Hm 
m  bis  mind  bÇ  the  Demoljelles  Landelle.  HeThas  noi 
Ihoaght  much  •  about  thèse 


isc 
yotl^^  ladfes.      What   he  hao' 


X. 


'"T  Ikr" 


V 


I 


71 


Are 


ru 


GkASDMAimaA'S  QRANDDAVGHT Bits. 

tlunignt  has  not  been  exactly  flattering.  ,  Evcn  with  r^ght  on 
Iheir  side  that  "  round  robin  ''  of  theirs  has  a  stui)endously 
cheeky  sound  ;  their  feelings,  he  opines,  cannqt  be  ftny  too 
délicate  or  sensitive  in  thus  forcing  themselves,  unînvited 
•nd^  unwelcome,  even  upon  their  grandmothef  He  seei 
uany  young  girls,  dark  and  dashing,  fair  and  stylîsh,  bel 
Bone  that  quite  ahswer  that  private  idea  of  the  ladies  I.ac 
délie.     Presently  he  espies  the  captain,  and  makes  for  him, 

"  I  am  in  search  of  two  young  ladies  due  in  this  vessel,' 
he  says.     "  They  are  French,  their  names  Landelle." 

'•  My  little  ladies,"  cries  the  captain  with  animation  ;  V  they 
were  afraid  no  one  was  coming  to  meet  tfaem  after  ail. 
you  a  relative,  sir?  " 

"No.    Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  In  my  cabin.     This  way,  sir.     Ail  right,  madame, 
be  oat^k  in  a  second.     They  are  gow  td  their  grandmother. 
You  are  frorh  her,  I  suppose  ?" 

Longworth  nods.  l^e  captain  of  tflj^Bfesperia  l|hrow9 
open  his  cabin  door,  Loii^orth  ^akes^ô^^^at  and  ^tands 
in  the  preserice  of  the  French  granddaughters.  1 

*'  My  little  ladies,"  exclaims  the  captain,  cheerily,  "  hère 
he  is  at  last,  sent  ,by  grandmamma,  and  Corne  to  fetch  you. 
And  as  I  am  tremendously  busy,  I  will  say  good-by  at  Once, 
and  God-speed." 

He  shakes  hands  with  both  and  départs.  Longworth  is 
atone  with  the  orphan  girls,  whose  case  he  pleaded  at  his 
own  cost.  Their  eyes  are  upon  ^JBWMwhat  their  opinion  uf 
him  may  be,  he  neither  knows  nt^n^P^^lhis  opinion  of  theic 
-  -prompt  and  incisive  as  ail  his  opinions  are — is,  that  one  ia 
without  exception  the  most  beauliful  girl  he  has  ever  sëen. 
In  his  thirty-odd  years  of  life  he  has  seen  many  fair  women  — 
anydiing  quite  so  faultlessly  perfect  as  the  taller  of  thèse  two 
^he  dœs  not  rehiember  evèr  to  hâve  met.  In  days  gone  fey, 
M  hsf  been  said,  he  has  been  a  poctaster  ;  enough  of  the 
pocf  f  adoration  of  the  beautiful  in  ail  things  still  clingi  to 


*'    l 


"♦ 


'  1  '  N 


>->f 


m" 


f9  ORANDMAMMJfS  GltAHPDAVGMTÈJt»,  ^ 

tbe  pr;)Mic  mah  of  business  to  make  hini  yield  spontaneooi 
hoauge  hère.  He  has  but  the  vaguest  idea  of  separat« 
in  his  iirst  moment,  -he  is  only  conscious  of  a  match- 
olei^jHe  hazily  realizes  ithat  she  is  tall  and  very 
graceful,  that  she  has  masses  of  lovely  hair  of  that  pecuUai 
and  rare  tint  known  as  Italian  red,  that*l||ie  has  yeUiw-brown 
eyes,  a  complexion  of  pJijçik  and  pearl,  andis  dressed  in  gray. 
Thesister  he  just  glances  at — few  men  would  do  more  thao 
just  glahce  at  her  with  that  other  radiant  vision  in  view — 
-and  in  that  glance,  notes  that  she  is,small  and  dark,  rathei 
plain  thân  pretty,  and  that  she  is  watchi%  him  earnestly 
with  two|large  black  eyes.  He  turns  to  the  taller  and  fairer, 
and  as  snkjooks,  the  older  of  the*wo,  no  trace  of  the  admi- 
l*  cation  he  certainly  feels  in  his  face— his  j[ook,  as  they  see  it, 
cool,  steadfast,  critic^j§piatter-of-fact. 

"  My  name  is  Longworth,"  he  says,  co^||ely  ;  "  I  live  in 

■  Ba)maouth,  and  as  business  was  bringing  r^kto  New  York, 

)rour  {[randmothcr,  Mrs.  Windsor,  requested  nli^  meet  you 

nere,' ahd  escort  you  there.     I  will  place  yoinm^  cab  now, 

if  you  are  ready,  and  theifj^ill  see  after  your  baggag^k 

K  funt  amused  smile,  which  she  bites  her  prett^H|  to 
>  ipses^  dawns  in  the  fair  face,  as  its  owner  stands  quietly 
û   k>efôre  liiim  and  Hstens.     Kvidently  she  is  not  accustomed  to 
being  addrèssed  by  gentlemen  in  that  cavalier  fashion,  evi- 
dentïy  also  bhe  brusquerie  does  not  offend  her.    She  bows 
j^  witbout  i^ïl^rd,  accepts  the  arm  he  offer^  the  small  dark 
ft^^einœselle  takes^^e   otfier,  .and  in   profound  silence    Mr 
ijWorthf  leadsnEneraJè,  and  «.pfcfces  thém   as  per  promise 
the'^cab.    Then  hè  ;disappears  in  search  of  the  luggage^ 
itid  Marie  Lant^elle  looks  at  her  sister  and  laughs-oi^Jght 
^    ••Flere's  richness.  Reine  I   Ursa  Major  in  the  fleâh  — much 
loo  good-looking  to  be  such  a  bear.      Longworth  I    wfiçre 
lave  Theard  that  name  bcfore  ?" --. 


**  You  hâve  lieard  it  from  me,"  says  Reine.   ' 
)Uul  Mees  Hariott  talked  of  him  perpetually. 


Mr.  Dextei 
He 


m 


A  2)C  agréât  friend  of  that  lady— Mr.  Dextersaid  a  lovel. 
but  he  appcars  too  young  for  that,  and  that  tall  monsieui 
«ras  always  farceur.  Marie,  he  looked  at  us  coldly,  almost 
sternly  j  jf  grandmanima's  raessenger  is  like  that,  Mon  Dieu  I 
what  will  net  grandmamma  be  ?  " 

"  A  very  dragon,  but  withal  a  very  great  lady,  if  ail  p.x)» 
flaamma  used  to  say  were  true,  and  une  grande  dame  at  least 
will  net  be  discourteous.  be  she  cold  as  snow,  and  hard  as 
itone,  I  will  still  melt  and  soften  her,  or  fail  for  the  first 
time.  As  to  the  tall  blonde  monsieur,  with  the  cold,  stem 
blue  eyes,  what  does  it  signify  ?  How  very  Uke  an  English 
man  he  is."  /  \ 

The  tall,   blonde  monsieur,  with   the   stem   blue    eyes 
tppears  as  she  says  it,  informs  them  briefly  that  their  proper' 
ty  18  ail  right,  mounts  beside  cabby,  gives  his  order,  lights  a 
cigar,  and  they  rattle  oflF  to   one  of  the  grand   Broadway 
hôtels.     He  puffs  his  cigar,   watches   the  crowd  and   the 
femiliar  stieets,  and  thinks  of  his  fair  cargo.     "  Mrs.  Wind- 
wr-s  granddaughters  onght  to  be  pretty  "— weil,  one  is  not 
actually,  the  other  is  something  more.     The  sraall  dark  one 
looks  French,  the  tall,  fair  orte  thoroughly  English.     SIft 
speaks  English  perfectly,  too,  with  hardly  an  accent,  but  thaï 
i«  to  be  expected  from  constant  association  with  her  mother. 
and  her  life  in  London.    By-the-by,  he  wondefs  wh>  Landellt 
has  hved  in  London-te|i^  "«  ^oubt     Then  his  ihoughtî 
dnft  to  Miss  Hariott— h£lfciot  seen  her.  she  must  hâve 
got  off  before  he  canielpHrwill  Madame  Windsor  receiv* 
thèse  two  young  peopleT    CiviUy  he  hopes,  icily  he  knows  , 
but,  then,  they  must  hâve  made  up  their  niinds  to  pocke» 
thfir  pride  when  they  determined  to  force  themselves  udod 
her.  '^      '  *^ 

"Apropos,"  he  muses  ;  "if  she  sets  up  that  régal  béauty. 
ta^iieaux  Yem  ^Or,^  Balzac  TiatTn^t,Th^  'ISl  foi 
naaiden  full  of  grâce,'  as  an  heiress,  présents  her  as  such 
at  the  impérial  court  of  Washington  next  winter,  what  ao 

-      4 

\ 


^' 


I' 


■!<•'.// 


fi  GnANDMAMMAfS  GHANDDA  VGBTEMS. 

Cnornious  sensation  she  wfll  creafe,  what  a  brilliant  hit  m  th( 
holy  ostate  of  matrimony  she  may  achieve.  But  unlesa  th( 
power  of  beauty  is  gréater  than  even  I  give  it  crédit  for  (and  1 
crédit  it  with  being  the  greatest  power  of  earth)  Mrs.  Wind 
sor  won't  They  niust  hâve  designs  upon  her  fortune  too^ 
npthing  else  would  ha/e  brought  theni.  What  would  thej 
iay,  I  wondcr,  if  they  knew  of  that  will  made  last  winter?" 

As  he  thinks  it,  a  sucîden  inspiration  flashes  upon  him.  so 
brilliant  an  idea  that  he  smiles  in  a  grim  fashion  to  himself. 

"  Upon  niy  word,  that  would  be  an  easy  way  to  recon- 
cile difficulties^  do  the  correct  thing,  and  gain  a  couple  of 
millions.  I  cannot  take  Mrs.  Windsor's  money,  but  I  could 
niany  la  belle  blonde  and  take  half  of  it.  Grandinamma 
would  not  décline  the  alliance,  ard  if  mademoiselle  is  so  keen 
for  a  fortune  she  wQùld  not  refuse  even  with  the  incumbrance 
of  a  husband.  It  would  be  wôrth  while  on  both  sides,  and 
,  though  it  is  not  for  an  outside  barbarian  to  judge  of  conjugal 
bliss,  I  think  it  would  be  pleasant  to  look  at  a  face  like  that 
across  thç  breakfast-table  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  da)-s 
«very  year.  -» 

rhey  rcach  the  hôtel  and  are  conducted  to  their  rooms 

veiy  spacious  and  élégant  roo'ms,  but  with  the  bare  dreari- 
ness  pervading  their  élégance  that  is  the  essential  atmosphère 
of  hôtels,  It  is  now  one  o'clock  ;  Mr.  Longworth  lingers  to 
infom»  themthat  he  will  call  to  take  dinner  at  tliree,  and 
once  more  forsakès  them. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shàll  like  your  Mr.  longworth,  Petite,'" 
remarks  Marie,  letting  down  ail  that  radiant  abundance  of 
red  gold  hair,  "  he  is  too  brusque,  I  thought  Americans  were 
•omething  like  French.nen  :n  their  appréciation  of  the /«^j 
uins.  He  ia  everything  that  there  is  of  the  nxwt  Ena. 
KA."  ««, 

=^1He4poks^en«ible^  anéithink  élever^"  Reme-respondir^ 
•*  and  not  at  ail  like  a  gendenian  to  be  affected  by  the  good 
m  \nÀ  opiwon  of  »wo  girli.     What  very  handsomc  xoomK 


Q 


^i>^ 


.'•âB^i! 


CJtA//DMAMyA>S  GkANDDAUGMTEki,. 


1\ 


m^ 
■■^2 


and  wFiat  a  ver)-  bright  and  busy  street.     It  is  like  the  Doule 
vards  in  Rouen." 

The  two  joung  ladies  make   their  toilets,  and  then  dl 
amused   and   intcrested,   ând   watch  the   steady   stream  ol 
people,  the  ceaseless  procession  of  reeling  oinnibusea   and 
the   pretty  street  cortumes  of  the   ladies.     Three  o'clo.  l 
cornes,  and  with  it,  pMictual  to  a  second,  Mr.  Lcngwortl. 
who  escort»  them  down  to  the  great  dining-hall,  leads  thein  to 
a  little  table  under  a  window,  where.^hey  can  feasl  their  eyei 
and  their  palates  together.     The  dlnn^  is  very  good,  and 
Mlle.  Marie,  who  lilres  good  dinners,  appréciâtes  the  délicate 
French  cookery,  and   the  dry  champagpe.     There  is  noi 
much  talking;  what  there  is  she  and  Mr.  Longworth  ma 
nopolize.     Reine  sits  with  her  dark  stUf  face,   and   large, 
thoughtful  e)U  fixed  more  on,  the  street  than  on  her  plate 
Her  tiste  has  W  been  cultivated  as  her  sister's  has,  délicate 
dishes  are  throwh^way  upon  her,  and  Champagne  makes 
her  ht  ad  ache.     W   wiU   hâve   only   cofTee,  black   and 
bitter.  ^ 

Was  she  sea-sick  Mr.  LÔÏig^rth  inquires,  of  course. 
Wk^etchedly,  mademoiselle  respoftds  with  pathos,  unable  to 
im  her  hi-ad  ail  the  way.  She  k«|)t  her  berth  from  the  firsl 
day  to  the  last,  and  there  were  times  when  death  would  hâve 
been  a  relief.  Mr.  Longwordi  expresses  his  syrapathy  and 
regret  ;  he  jnellows  as  ail  men  do  under  the  bènign  influence 
of  dinner  ;  he  would  never  suspect,  he  murmurs,  from  hei 
présent  appearance  that  she  had  been  ill  an  instant  As  sh" 
kept  her  cabin  ail  the  way  over;^slfe  dïd  not  meet  a  irrend 
of  his  who  also  crossed,  a  lady,  a  Miss  Hariott 

"  I  met  no  pne,  monsieur,  no  ofie.  But  my  sister  knowi 
the  lady.  Petite,  it  is  the  lady  s<  kind,  of  whom  you  haw 
often  told  me." 


**r.  longworth  jlâMësmlfitHéSëa  toïtt" 

tention  he  has  yet  shown  towards  the  silent  sister.   A  pair  o( 
fttj  fine  eyei  met  his— remarkably  fine  he  décides,  qnhf 


^^^ç  '      v^'*'*  a  **      '    jtki 


v>« 


•■s^',< 


.y 


.^ 


GltAtfÙiiÂMU/fS  GkAN.^DA  '/GffTÈjU. 


différent  from  the  golden  orbs  of  the  other,  fauC  in  iheii  laïke  , 
way  quite  as  attractive.  -  j 

"  1  know  Mees  Hariott  very  well,"  responqs  Mlle.  Reine. 
"  More,  monsieur,  I  also  know  you." 

She  looks  at  him  with  thàt  sudden  smile  .which  inakes  sp 
bright  and  vivid  a  change  in  the  dark  quiet  of  her  face  as  to> 
lend  it  niomentarily  almost  jjeauty.     But  it  is  a  beauty  qtiite 
aplike  her  sister's,  of  soûl  and  expr.ession,  not  of  peaily  desh 
tnd  ros)  blood^  .   *   ^  v 

"  Am  I  iildeed  so  fortunate  ?  Bût  cprdial  friend  of  mine 
as  I  know  Miss  Hariott  to  be,  how  Could  sh#  reconcile  it  to 
her  conscience  to  bore^a  perfect  strangbr  with  nay  manifold 
perfections?"  ,  * 

"  She  didnot  bore  me.  She  and  a  young  gentleman  bpred' 
one  another.  He  seenjed  to  know  you  yery  well  ulso.  His 
name  was  Dexter."        ^ 

"Wh^t,  Frank?"  '^  l^t,  '  '     *  ^ 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Frank.     It  .was  Mees  Hariptt's  daijy  habit 
to  hq|d  you  up  as  a  model  of  ail  perfectio^  for  Monsi^i^ 
Frank  to  imitate.     They  were  tlie  oil^  people  I  kne«^  on 
Aoard,  and  as  I  was  al  way  s  with  them,  yat 
faniiliar  sound  indeed."  

"  HMfhappy  atn  I,"  says  Longwort'hi  f  to>!^t§906S  a/riend 
whu.jHr  content  with  appreciating  me  herself,  sings   my 
praises'lHcross  th'e-broad  Atlantic.     But  do  you  know  where 
she  and  Dexter  are  stopping  ?  for  no  doubt  tKey  will  put  \x\-t)  ■ 
at  the  same  hôtel."  '•     »,  •  "'■  .. 

°No,  mademoiselle  does  ni^jt  knbw."  6he  has  sfeen  and  bid- 
dcn  Mecs  Hariott  good-byè^  Icnowi^ig  they  lyould  s<JpÂ  meet 
in  Baymouth,  but  their  destination  in  iJew  Yorjc  shejtas  noi        i^»'4 
leatrnedt    They  linger.  I*ng  over  de^èrt.    Whjen  they  àitse^ 
Mr.  LorigWorth  proposes  their  coming  ah^taking  a  bird* s-  '         ' 


le  grew  a  very 


vorth  looking  at 
The  young  VidieB^àsiwnt;  and  ail  impart.    They  go  evcrry 


^■>  •■:*•'  :   \^ 


,'■1 


/;■'      *•• 


*è.- 


:  w 


\ 


^HAjTDMÀMMA'S  ghanddaughtrrs       ,    77 

«mère  they  can  go,  and  see  everything  they  can  sec,  in  th' 
■pace  of  a  couple  of  hours,  and  still  it  is  early  when  they  rë^  v 

"  Will  you  conie  to  the  opéra  this  évening?'-  their  escor 
inquires.     "  It  is  not  very  warm,  and  the  opérai  is  the  evér- 
,  ^  charming  '  Figlia.'  " 

"We  bave  no  costume,  monsieur,"  says  Mlle.  Marie., 
elancihg  deprecatingly  at  her  gra)  serge  robe,  the  straight, 
'  élinging,  classic  folds  of  Which  hâve  pleàsed  Longworth's  ai 
tistic  eye  fr  jm  the  Arst.  "  And  papa  is  not  yet  three  mon  the 
dead,"  says  Mlle.  Reine  in  a  very  low  voice 
^  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  says  Longworth.  "  I  quite  foigot 
"that" 

And  then  he  wonders  for  the  first  time  why  thèse  |irb  ^m, 
not  in  black.  ^  {»''' 

"  Papa  told  us  not  to  put  on  mouming,"  says  Marie,  as 
if  àjiswering  that  thoughi  ;  "  he  always  considered  it  a  use- 
Icss  forifi'.  He  Icnew  it  was  the  heart  that  in^ums,  not  the 
garnients."  f^ 

"  And  ve  were  too  ppor  to  buy  it,"  adds,  with  8i«iplicity,< 
Mlle.  Reine  ;  "but  ihAugh  we  do  ncK  wearcrape  ànd  sables, 
we  cannot  go  tô  tht  opéra,  monsieur." 

"No,  certaÏBiy* nol  l||vU  wheie,  0\*.t\,  saan  1  take  yotf |  " 
says  Longworth,  fttlîn^  HonT^wh^J  like  ihe  bewîldered  gen- 
tlenitirh  wl^A^as  preiwuted  with  a  white  éléphant.'  "T^ei«^ 
are  man^jplher  places 


,f 


1 


•<; 


*♦  I  think  ît  woukl  be  best  to  go  p)wb«e-ito-night,''  an-, 
swers  Marie*.  "  ure  are  tirod,  ar\d  you. cannot   bc  troubled 
;    with   us  alw^      \ie  will  ^  tq  oÉi  ro9ii\s  and  retirlË) 
■f\  early."''  '     ^      "    '  ,     ^  '< ,  . 

Mr,  Longworh  protests,  of  course,  that  it  i«nolroub\|,  ^^ 
that  it  is  a  pleasure,  etc,  byit  feels  inmieasurabl|y  reBeved,^^. 

him  a  qûCi^n,       .  '        *.        '^..  »         .  #  ' 

/.        «"Wègo  toB»0iiQUth  to-mc^row?/*   •  V'^*  r.     . 


1*' 


if. 


il'» 


•1» 

?,V(*-,. 


%, 


*^tt 


fc" 


7*        '     GRAITDMAMMA'S  GKA.VDD^ViiBTBMS. 

"To-morrow,  unless  you  wish  to  remain  another  day  anâ 
«ee  the  city." 

"Oh,  no  !  we  désire  to hare  no  wish  in  the  matfer.     Yoa 
•  knôw  madame,  my  grandmother  ?  " 

"  Intimately,  mademoiselle." 

She  hésitâtes,  and  looks  at  him  wistfuUy.  Yes,  uncom. 
flionly  fine  eyes  Lcngworth  thinks  again,  eyes  of  whidt.the 
white  is  alpiost  blue,  and  the  brown  almost  black. 

"  Will  she  he  kind  to  us,  monsieur  ?  " 

It  is  an  erabarrassing  question.  VVith  that  earnest  crya- 
tal-clear  gaze  on  his  face,  it  is  impossible  even  to  equivo- 
cate. 

"I  hope  80,"  he  answers  slowly,  "after  a  little— I  think 
•o.    But  you  must  be  considerate  with  her,  and  wait" 

"Good  night,"  she  says,  and  both  bow  simultaneously  an4 
départ. 

"Poor  Kttle  thing  I  "  he  thinks,  tuuched  as  he  remembers 
that  wistful  look.  '«  I  wish  n.nrlmie,  our  grandmother,  were 
net  made  of  quite  such  Spartan  ^tuff.  I  -fancy  the  little  one 
—petite  Reine— will  feel  it  most.  Now,  if  I  fiould  only  hunt 
up  Etexter." 

He  starts  out,  determined  to  drop  in  at  two  or  three  hoteU. 
He  is  more  fortunate  than  he  expects,  for  in  the  doorway  of 
the  second  he  encounters  his  raan. 

Frank  is  standing  whistling,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
eyes  on  the  street,  when  Longworth  approaches  and  slapi 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  ^Vhat.  my  Frank  I  What,  my  Baby  I  {Ui.  Dexter's  sobri- 
quet  in  times  pàst,  from  his  vast  legglb  of  Umb  and  Lreadth 
of  shrùlder,  has  been  the  Baby)  "  havc  I  run  you'to  earth  at 
last?,   Bless  the  boy,  how  well  he  is  looking." 

"  î-pngworth,  by  Jupiter  I  "  exclairas  Frank,  graspinR  hii 
hand.  'jwMd-hitfs -^-— —     •    >  ••     ■   -    **     *   * 


itZ-  Awfully  glad  to  aCe  you  aUt 


the  saive.     What 
haven't  been  lookin' 


11  mean  oy  hunting  me  doWa? 
le,  hâve  you  ?" 


Y« 


,i.f 


1^ 


^MAltDMÀânMS ^RANDpAUGHTRRS.  J% 

"  For  the  l^t  three  hDur8,'iny  boy.     T  know  you  croMed 
.  in  the  Hesperia.    Is  Miss  Hariott  hère  ?" 

•*  Oh,  she  told  you,"  says  Frank.  It  is  quite  characteris. 
rie  of  Mr.  Dexter  to  raake  this  remark  in  ^ood  fiith  withoot 
pausing  to  think  how  she  can  hâve  donc  it,  not  knowing  he 
was  on  board,  until  after  they  had  started.  "  Yes,  she'ç^ïiere, 
but  I  dont  think  you  can  see  her  to-nightj  she  was  dg^ 
tired  and  went  to  bed  early.  But  I  say,  old  bqy,  how  un- 
coinmonly  glad  I  am  to  meet  you.  How  are  they  aU  iô 
Baymouth  ?     How  is  Totty  ?  " 

«'Blooming'and  lovely,  and  plumper  than  when  youleft." 

"  Is  she?  Do  you  know,  I  like  plunip  women.  How  il 
niy  Polly?" 

•*  Your  Polly  is  well,  and  as  uncivil  as  ever.  A  more  dis» 
reputable  old  bird  never  talked.  O'SuUivân  has  taught  ha 
to  swear  in  Irish." 

"Ha,  ha|"  laughs  Frank.  «'How  b  that  exiled  Irish 
prince?  I  ara  going  down  to  Baymouth  for  a  week  or  two 
— going  tô  havd  a  yacht  builL" 

"Where  i«  trumps?"  asked  Longworth.  "You  didn'l 
leave  him  iit^urop»,  did  you,  a  présent  to  one  of  the 
ciowned  heads  ?  " 

"Not  .ikelr.  Hère,  Trumps."  Frank  whistles,  and  the 
big  Newfo^dland  couies  lumbering  up,  and  recognixet 
I/Ongworth  wilh  démonstrative  doggish  delight.  •  " 

'^  I*d  like  to  fetch  a  dog  down  to  Totty,"  says  Dexter  ; 
*'she  toW  me  once  she  would  like  a  King  Charles— they 
had  an  aristoératic  sound,  she  said,  and  I  know  a  little  >»rooly 
fe'low  she  could  r.arry  in  her  pocket.  Do  you  think  she 
wwWlikeit?"^ 

Among  Mr.  D^ter's  pet  habits,  and  their  name  is  ïfgion, 
ts  a  great  and  al«orbing  passion  for  aniroaH    Down  at  home, 


b  the^eorgJAn  Muision,  he  kéïprà  perféct^meSâgerit 
from  small  whitamice,  to  great  blîck dogs,  ccws,  and  hortet 
\(  a  bippo)>otu]As  or  an  éléphant  were  easy  trifles  to  get  a 


rt 


li  :f'lé/;.,i...      .'.'- 


/  I 


y^'f'■ 


80  GRAND^AMMA'S   GRASDDAVGaTERS. 

ktfep,  a  hippopotanms  and  an  éléphant  Frank  wculd  hâve 
His  first  impulse,  whtn  he  desires storender  himself  agreeablc 
to  a  young  lady,  is  to  give  her  a  dog,  just  as  any  other  gen  - 
Ueman's  would  b'?  to  présent  her  with  a  bouquet 

"Tôt    might,"  responds    Longworth,  "but   her   mcthei 
wouldn't  ;  she  abhors  the   canine  race.     A   dog  followed 
O  Sullivan  home  once;  stray  cof%  always  hâve  a  draggle 
cailed  habit  of  foUowing  the  ^Sullivan.     He  was  about  the 
ugliest  beast"  that  ever  wore  a  tail  at  one  end,  and  a  bark  al 
the  other.     He  had  only  one  eye  and  three  legs-^was  such 
ahopele^s  ànd  forlorn  spectacle  that  O.  nanied  him  (from 
some  association  of  ideas,  with  a  certain  lost  catise)  •  Head 
Center,'  on  the  spot.     I  think  the  name  blighted  him,  ar  a 
bad  name  will  blight  any  of  us.     Although  he  grew  round 
and  fat,  and  lazy  and  luxurious,  the  moment  there  was  no 
possibility  of  his  ever  growing  fatter  or  fuller  he  disappeared, 
vanished,  evaporated,  niade  himself  thin  air,  and  never  was 
heard  of  more.     O'Sullivan  always  had  suspicions  of  Mrs. 
Longworth  and  the  cook,  for  he  was  of  thievish  propensitiês 
(the  dog  I  mean,  not  O'Sullivan),  and  made  away  withlvery- 
tiiing  he  could  lay  his  paws  on      Bat  I  always  attribute  it  to 
his  iiame.     As  a  consistent  Head  Center,  he  could  not  hâve 
icted  otherwise."  " 

^'  It  may  hâve  been  ctjpsistent  Head  Center  native," 
retorts  Dexter,  «to  take  ail  he  could  gct,  and  rob  his  bene- 
factors,  but  it  wasn't  consistent  dOg  nature.  l'IL  bring  the 
King  Charles  dowh  to  Tôt  ail  the  samè." 

"  What'  kind  of  trip  did  you  hâve,  Baby  ?   A  good  ron  and  • 
nice  people  ?*<»    -  *  ^    .. 

"  \  spanking  run  and  a  splendid  çrowd  of  fellov-crcaturet. 
There  was  one  young  lady— awfully  joUy  littlc  girl.  with  whon 
Miss  Hariott  struck  up  an  intfmacy.  I  wish  I  çould  find  Jber 
■gajn    nov^  hftd  a  Chance  tv  tàf  good-by  fir en.*  ^^ 


"  What  was  her  riame  ?  ' 
**liUdenoraelle  Reine." 


'  ^j» 


»       !     1' 


•<    ♦ 


.»^*:  ■**##:,  ^  ,4    V  « 


;.:ivfc,..  *«   \  :r>;yf^*''.T:.jt' 


"  i 


GRANpMAMM^:i  GRANDDA  UGHTER&. 


%\ 


"  V^hat  was  her  othér  name?  " 

"  I  don  t  know.  \Ve  got  qn  with  that.  She  was  f'rénclH 
and  that  eminently  convenient  word,  mademoiscUe,  supplied 
ail  deficiencies."  .  ■ 

'*  But  her  friends "  „  f 

♦*  Had  none.     Tra/eled  in  charge  of  the  captain.     Papa 
and  naamma  dead.     There  was  à  sister  whoin  nobody  saw— 
•he   appeared   to   hâve   taken  t-he  vail— but  with  whom-  I 
»ranted  to  fafl  in  love.     Wouldn't-give  me  a  chance  though 
Shut  herself  up  in  Ar  room  ail  the  way."  ^ 

"Pretty,  Baby?'^ 

*Must  hâve  been,  with  that  figure,  that  air,  that  hair,  that 
roice.     Didn't  sçe  her  face,  but  know  it  was  stunning," 
"And  the  othér pne?"  ^ 

'^  Well  she  was  ëharming,  with  the  eyes  and  sniile  of  an 
angel,  but  not%hat  sotne  people— you,  for  insta^— would 
call  ^xactly  harwlsome,  you  know.  Miss  Hariott  fratemized 
wuh  her  as  shedbesn't  often  with  strangers." 

"  If  Miss  Hariott  liked  her,  ail  is  sui*;  her  judgment  i. 
next  door  to  mfallible.     I  présume  you  and  lÉiss  Hariott 
bored  this  unfortjb^te  young  person  with  perpétuai  talk  of 
.Bayinouth?"  ■ . 

"Well,  jrês,  naturally,  #e  talked  of  Baymquth  a  good 

deal."  .  ' 

"  And  of  Baymouth, pçople ?" 

,     "  Of  some  of  'em— you,  for  instance." 

•*  Ah  !     Did  you  ever  by  any  chance  speak  of  Mrs.  Wlnd 
•or?" 

^       "  Mrs  Windsor  ?— the  eihpiess  in  her  own  right,  whoi 
^  to  curdle  the  ,blood  ih  niy  youtkfii!  vejns  wheiyîver  she 

'Good  morning,  Master  Frank,'  in  that  deep,  Siddons  voiL. 

of  hertf  ?    No,  I  don't  thmk  we  evçr  Spoke  of  Mrs.  Whdwr^ 


'Et' 


Why?' 


'f  Nothing,"  î.ongworth  answers,  with   a  peculiar  sraO* 
1^  ii  thinkin^  of  this  «vicient  li/tle  dark-eyed  loadem^MU* 

fc  4*  • 


t  ^  p^^-t  "v^'^M*^?  tV"^ 


M 


^, 


8a  CRA/iDMAMMA'S  GJiANDl  AVGHTBZS. 

iitti£^  so  dçmutely  whUe  they  disçuSsed  Baymouth,  anJ» 
never  dropping  a  hint  that  she^  too|  was  feoing  there. 

"What  has  brotight  yon  to  New  York,  Larry  ?"  mquiréi 
pexter.  " /%<r/ïwp  business,  I  suppose.  How  is  that  noble 
Uterary  binî ?"  - 

"In  full  Yèather,  plummg  himsèlf  for  fresh  flights.  Yes. 
Phénix'  business  lias  brought  me,  and  as  it  is  satisfactorily 
£oncluded,  I  shall  ^eturn  to^orrow.  Suppose  you  conie 
along.;;  ■  .^  -^  .^     , 

"Can't     Promised  Miss  Hariott  t&  do  escort  duty,  and  " 
she  is  goinj  to  stay  a  week.     I  want  to  stayr  myselt.    Who 
knows  but  that  I  niay  meet  my  '  little  ladies'  some  fine  after-, 
ïioon  among  thc  other  belles  of  Broadway  ?  " 

"So  far  gone  as  that,  dear  boy?    Well,  the  aight  wean' 
apace,  and  l'il  be  offl     So,  until  we  meet  at  Phifippi,  adieu." 

"TU  walk  with  you.  Where  are  you  staj'ing?  At  your 
old,quarters,  I  suppose.  What  train  do  you  take  to-mor- 
row?  If  I  hâve  nothing  better  to  do  l'U  corne  and  see  you 
oflf." 

"No,  don't  trouble,"  says  Longworth  ;  "  we'U  see  enough 
of  each  other  soon.  How  long  did  you  tell  me  you  meant 
to  stay  in  Baymouth  ?  " 

"Only  a  week  or  two,  to  arrange  the  contract  aboat  the 
yacht,  then  'away  down  South  in  Georgey.'  My  mothei 
and  the  govemor  pine  for  the  ligh^  of  my  ingenuoos  counte^ 
nance  once  more.  But  I  shall  retum  again  before  the  sum- 
mer  ends."  ' 

Mr.  Longworth  holds  out  his  hand.  * 

"Well,  good-by,  my  Baby— hère  we  art.    Best  lore  to 

Miss  Hariott  of  course.    Take  good  care  of  her;  «««tt^ncf 

m  Baymouth  woul4  be  à  bore  without  her." 

"  t^  you  what,  Larry,    says  Frank— «'  IV#  often  tfaoughl 

fc,  too— you  ought  to  many  Miss  Hariot.     gfcif  wonM 


jrou  to  the  finest  fibre  of  your  nature,  as  IVe  iMd 
Jid  ^hgugh  ihe's  a  trifle  too  old * 


-HIL 


\ 


...  % 


.« ,. 


U' 

^ 


"5^- 


JfXJS.    WINDSOR  AT    ^OMS. 


"  Not  a    !ay  too  old.     I  asked  her  onW,  and  ^e  uid  ho 
Bleds  you,  my  Baby,  and  good-night  " 


Frank  turns  îo  r». 


\   He  waves  his  hand,  and  disappears. 
trace  his  steps,  in  a  musing  mood. 

"Asked  her  once,  and  she.  said  no  :  Wond«»r  if  te  did 
'  f.o«^  He's  such  a  one  to  chaff  ;  but  it  «^uU  be  ex^cth 
l.ke  h.m.  Oh.  if  some  beneficent  fairy,  soie  modem  A» 
...odeus  would  but  unroof  New  YoA,  apd  show  me  where 


my  ' little  hufies  '  are  at  this  moment!" 


\ 


% 


CHAPTER  VII.  ' 

\ 

MRS.    WINDSq»  AT   HOMB.  \ 

<  -  '  \      ' 

HE  ten  o'clock  express  next  mtomîng  bear«  away 
among  its  passengers    Mr.     Laurence  Longworth 
and  his  two  young  ladies.  '  Mlle.  Marie  sits  serene 
m  her  lovehness  at  one  of  the  windows-^Mllfe.  Reine  sits 
b^ide  her.     That  lovely  stretch  of  countiy  that  hes  between 
New  York  and  Boston  looks  its  loveliest  this  génial  sumitiei 
morning,  and  the  dark  eyes  of  Reine,  weary  of  restless.  toss- 
ftlg  biue  water  for  so  many  days  and  nights,  gaze  as  though 
they  conld  never  gaze  their  ML    J^interests  Mlle.  Landelle. 
but  not  to  the  sanie  extent  ;  she  carTrotsk  at  her  fellow-trav- 
eters,  glance  over  the  illustrated  paiiersî  a^d  converse  with 
monsieur.     Monsieur  sits  opposite  ;  to  l/im  the  route  and  the 
•unht  landscape  are  very  old  stories.t   He  lies  back  and 
watches  as  steadfastly  as  is'  consistentWith  good  breedinjr 
the  fair  flower  face  before  him.     It  is  a  face  upon  which  it  it 
«prtprhr.1  p1ri,urc  to  ga.c  .  iu.  >uuih<ul  IrésHiiés  vTu  pF 
fccùon  of  feature  ahd  colonng,  look  as  often  as  you  m.» 
—"  cver  ncw.     Most  beautiful  ùux»  are  mwred  by 


'  ''"  ¥'    '    '^■r 


At 


C 


^ 


H  "^  MKS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 

flaw,  hotRrevei  trifling  ;  Longworth,  no  mean  judge,  examia 
ing  critically,  can  find  none  hère.  Many  men  glance  in  paw- 
ing,  pause  for  a  second  as  if  struck,  then  glance  again.  fl 
she  notices,  her  uncofftciousness  is  something  perfect— if  she 
were  nlind  she  could  not  be  more  outwardly  indiffèrent  to  it 
ail.  ijt  appears  to  Mr.  Longworth  that  she  accepts  this  eye 
bornage  n^ith  the  tranquillity^of  one  to  whom  it  is  such  an  old 
■tory  that  it  has  ceased  to  embarrass,  as  something  she  hâd 
been  accustomed  to  from  her  very  cradle,  and  so  has  ceased 
almcst  to  observe  it 

She  talks  well,  Longwortîi  finds,  in  a  soft,  rather  slow  voice, 
and  is  a  good  listener.  She  has  spent  nearly  ail  her  life  in 
London,  it  appears,  but  has  visited  more  than  once,  Paris, 
Versailles,  and  Rouen.  Beyond  France  she  has  never  bcen  ; 
but  Reine  has  beejn  up  the  Rhine,  and  in  the  Tyro'l,  and 
once  spent  Holy  Week  in  Rome  with  her  aunt,  who  brougftt 
her  up  àijd  took  her  everywhere.  Longworth,  upon  this, 
glanées  at  the  petite  figure,  and  dusk  face,  and  still  eyes  ol 
brooding,.darkness, 

"  And,  \x\  spite  of  ail  this  foreign  travel,'sire  leaves  the  onus 
of  the  conversation  u^wn  us.     Or  is  it  that  she  thinks  it  too 
rivial  to  join?     How  silent  you  are,  mademoiselle." 

*  Reine  holds  her  tongue  in  four  différent  languages,"  sayï 
•Xarie,  with  a  smile.  and  a'  carèssing  touch  ;  "  she  is  a  won- 
derful  lingujst  ancl^iusician,  is  la  petite.     She  speaks  English 
ind  Frcach,  reads  Gerrtkn,  and  sings  in  It^ian." 

"  And^'ct  she  has  not  cpndescended  to  make  half  a  dozeo 
rcmarks  in  any  langage,  living  or  dead,  for  the  past  thret 
houra."  , 

"You  and  Marie  do  it  so  lyell,  monsieur,  ît  would  be  i 
pity  to  interrupt.  And  I  am  always  stupid  yhen  trar^ling 
Bekidei  I  was  thinking."  \ 

"A   nelf-evident   fart       ff   nnff  nnly  rmiM   rmmA  »Kn^- 


Â^n^tl 

**  TiMjr  wcold  not  interest  you  at  ail, 


">. 


ir»A    WINDSOR   AT  HOMÈ. 


M 


Monsieur  is  not  sure  of  that,  but  he  does  not  say  so.  She 
bas  the  head  nnd  brow  of  one  who  thinks  more  than  she 
talks,  and  is  a  young  lady  whose  thoughts  and  opinions  on 
most  subjects  migl^t  be  worth  hearing.   ' 

"  I  met  a  friend  of  yours,  mademoiselle^'  he  says,  still  ad. 
dressing  himself  to  the  younger  sister,  "  last  night,  after  wc 
parted.  He  is  lingering  a  whole  week  in  New^  York,  in  the 
hope  of  encount^ng  two  young  ladies  who  crossed  with 
hrni,  and  whom  he  calls  '  my  little  ladies.'  He  is  desolated" 
at  havin^^iiàsed  them  on  landing,  and  if  h^e  only  knewtheii 
name  would  search  every  hôtel  register  in  the  city  to  find 
them." 

(,  "Ah  I  Monsieur  Frank,"  laughs  Reine  ;  "yes,  we  missed 
each  other  that  last  day.     But  he  never  saw  Marie." 

"Which  does  not  hinder  him  from  being  excessive!^  anx- 
ious  to  do  so.     Mademoiselle,  you  are  a  wonderful  young  ç 
lady.     You  hear   thèse  two   people  talking  perpetually  of      ^ 
Baymouth  for  ten  long  days,  and  never  once  drop  a  hint  that 
you  arej^ng  there  youfself."  ,^     ' 

Mad^Sselleiifts  her  eyebrowS.  ^ 

"Bm  why,  monsieur— why  should  I  ?    How  could  Jt  pos-  '' 
sibly  interest  them  ?    A»d  though  extremely  kind  Aey  were 
yet  strangers,  andwe  do  not  tell  strangers  ôurlahnly-history, 
and  where  we  are  going,  and  ail  our'biography.     Wjiy  should 
Ihavetpld?" 

"Mademoiselle,  iVepeat^you  are  an  exfraor^dinary  young 
lady.  -The  average  American  girl  would  hâve  taken  Miss 
Hariott  into  her  confidertce  the  moulent  the  name  of  Bay- 
mouth pa^d  her  Kps,  retaUed  herown  history,  and  fpund 
out  svei^ng  there  «ras  to  'ind,  conceming  Mrs.  Windsor 
and  h»  future  home.  You  do  not  spe^k  one  word.  I  coo- 
g^^'^^r^y^e^^op  fee  pïeasure  of  koowing  a  héroïne  wha 


"  Ah  !  now  you  are  laughing  at  me.    And  indeed  I  wa*» 
""*      t»*"***^»J®  ^fiim."    A  troubled  look  cnepi  wÊn  Un 


'^». 


90  MRS.  wmbsQk  at  houm. 

--•V  ..«fWtful  eye«  fixed  upo/him.     •'  Do  you  tell  us,  monneur-. 
you  know  her  well— what  is  our  gnandmother  like  ?  " 

"  Like  a  queen,  mademoiselle,  if  queens  are  always  stately 
and  tall,  handsome,  and  high-bred  ;  severe  perhaps,  co'd  c«r- 
tainly,  but  a  lady  to  her  finger-tips." 

"  Une  grande  dame—l  said  so,  Petite,"  murmurs  Marie. 

*•  Cold  and  severe,  and  we  are  coming  uninvited  and  \xu- 
wdcome,"  Reine  responds,  under  her  breath. 

"  But  to  the  home  that  is  ours  by  right,  the  only  home  we 
luve  in  ail  the  world,"  says  Marie,  and  a  look  of  resolution 
that  is  not  unlike  Mrs.  Windsor's  own,  sets  her  young  (ace  ; 
**  it  is  our  right  to  go  there,  my  sister." 

"Sq!"  Longwdrth  thinks,""in  spite  of  your  pretty  face 
you  hâve  a  will  of  your  own,  ànd  are  a  much  better  diplomat 
than  petite  Reine.  I  foresee  if  madame  nielt  jit  ail  it  wiU  be 
toward  you." 

Mr.  Longworth  on  the  whole  deçidedly  enjoys  this  da/s 
ride  and  companionship,  although  lie  is  nôt  so  fascinated 
that  he  cannot  désert  them  at  intervais  for  a  brief  retreat  to 
the  smoking-car.  Among  ail  the  enchantresses  that  eve 
tumed  the  heads  of  men  was  there  «*ver  one  yet  who  had  no; 
a  formidable  rival  in  her  lover*  s  cigar-case  ? 

They  dine  together  in  very  friendly  fashion  at  two  • 
Mademoiselle  Marie  manifests  that  admirable  appetite  vhick 
perfect  health,  beauty,  and  twenty  sunny  years  require  ;  but 
Reine's  flags,  she  takes  little,  she  looks  restless,  and  nervous, 
and  excited.  This  expression  deepens  as  the  afternoon 
wears  on  ;  Longworth  sees  it  in  the  large  eyes  that  glance 
up  at  him  upon  one  of  his  returns^om  smokinjg.  Marie, 
wigelic  almost  in  her  slumber,  hasJ-  made  a  pillow  of  her 
ihawl,  removed  her  hat,  and  sleeps^a  lovely  vision.  Reine 
lifts  a  waming  hnger. 
" S-h  1  laensieur,  she  sleeps.    {^e  irnot  accustonwd  to^ 


nflway  travel  and  it  fatigues  her." 
Shr  .ooks  «rith  loving  eyes  at  that  ùa   8w«et,  slaepinf 


^ 


1  .4  „  ■ 


M»S.    WINDSOR  AT  HO  MA. 


«7 


IkcC  Ix>ngworth  looks,  too,  with  the  admiration  he  carnol 
qtiite  hide  in  his  eyes.  What  a  model.she  wp»ld  make,  fee 
Ûiiaks/fô^-à  sleeping  beauty  ;  how  some  artistic  Bohemiatta 
he  wots^^i  New  York  would  rave  of  that  wondrous  cher- 
f lure  <4Pp  go^<l.  ^àic  long,  amber  eyelashes,  that  faint, 
délicate  flush  on  the  waxen  skin  ! 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  says,  "  but.  I  am  afraid  we  must  Ir. 
6ve  minutes  we  change  cars  for  Baymouth."  \ 

A  flicker  of  fear  passes  over  her  face,  and  he  sees  it  with 
a-iouch  of  compasùon  for  this  nervous,  sensftive  child. 

"The  other  will  be  the  better  off,"  he  thinks  ;  "  this  poM 
little  créature  is  to  be  pitied."         ^ 

"How  long  before  we  reach  Baymouth,  monsieur?* 
Reine  inquires. 

"  We  will  be  there  at  Six  ;  it  is  now  half-past  four.  Her« 
is  the  junction  ;  they  are  slowing  already.  Pray  *rake  yoni 
■istier,  mademoiselle,  while  I  collect  our  goods  and  chattels." 

"  lHant^^àmour,"  Reine  whispers,  and  Marie  ppens  wid« 
her  \p9€^cyes. 
,      "  Are  we  there  ?  "  she  asks,  étifling  a  yawn. 

Reine  explains. 

"Change  cars  for  Baymouth!"  shout»  the  conductor , 
«nd  preceded  by  Longworth  the  two  French  girls  go,  an*) 
presently  find  themselves  in  another  train,  and  flying  along 
in  another  direction  on  the  làst  stag-  of  their  joumey  home. 

From  this  moment  Reine  ^oes  not  speak  ;  she  looks  cold 
and  pale,  and  is  trembling  with  suppressed  nervous  excite- 
ment.  Marie  sits  tranquil  and  serene,  the  faint  flush  of 
lleep  yct  on  her  cheeks,  a  sniile  on  her  lips,  a  s*any  light  in 
her  eye»,  talking  brightly,  and  wîthout  a  tremor. 

"Yes,"  thinks  Longworth  for  the  third  time,  "yonwU 
dou    I  fancy  you  were  the  one  who  wrote  that  remariub^ 
I  lettv.     But  forthis^  petite.  Reine  — 


*  AIm  I  poor  prinoesa,  to  thy  (riteoui 
Hc«f«B  WBd  fw«et  pMM.' 


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MXS.    WINDSOR    iT  HOME. 


.    rhia  excitable  nature  of  yours  will  work  you  woe  in  Mu 
Windsor '8  stem  household." 

The  train  stops  at  last.  As  ail  the  tierce  ateam-whistlei 
of  the  Ba|;niouth  mills  and  factories  shriek  forth  the  welcome 
hour  of  six,  and  disgorge  their  swarniing  hives,  thej  enter  a 
hack  and  are  driven  away  to  the  Stone  House. 

"  Monsieur,  are  you  not  coming  with  us  ?  "  Reine,  aski, 
chnging  to  hjm  instinctively,  and  looking  at  him  with  eye« 
ail  black  and  wide  with  vague  terror. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  door,"  Longworth  answers,  kindly. 
••  My  dear  Mademoiselle  Reine,  do  not  be  nenrous  about 
this  business.  As  your  sister  says,  you  are  only  going  to 
four  nghtftil  home." 

Ste  makes  no  reply  ;  her  small  face  is  absolutely  colorie^ 
as  8he  shnnks  away  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage.  No  more  is 
•aid,  but  a  sensé  of  kindly  <fompassion  fiUs  Longworth  ;  it  is  of 
herhethmks  as  they  drive  along  through  the  familiar  Bay- 
mouth  streets,  not  of  the  lovely,  serene  Marie.  And  now  the>i> 
are  at  the  gâte,  and  grim  and  gray,  and  still  and  stem  as  its  mis-  " 
tress,the  Stone  Housèrises  before  them,  half  hiddenin  treea, 
with  the  red  light  of  the  sunset  on  its  sinall-paned  Windows. 

«  We  are  hère,"  says  Longworth,  somewhat  superfluously. 
He  spnngs  out,  assists  them  to  follow,  précèdes  them  to  the 
door,  lifts  the  knocker,  and  sends  a  reverberating  écho 
through  the  house. 

"And  now  I  will  say  good-by  and  good-speed  until  we  ^ 

meet  again."  '^ 

He  shakes  hands  cordially  with  both,  and  as  the  heavy 
hall-door  opens,  disappears.  The  rather  elderly  woraan  who 
adinits  them  looks  at  them  with  curions  eyes. 

♦;  Be  you  missis's  gra'nddaughters  ?  "  she  asks  ;  '  the  yonnc 
uuhes  from  France  ?"  ,  j-'^-"% 

Marie  bows  with  a  smile.  % 

^tThenyeu  are  to  wrfk  .%fcr  tonaSil^fl^Be  wîtt  »»— 
hanamate."  ' 


•^■i    «î 


WJtSi    H'MDSOR  AT  HOME. 


89 


.    ■€ 


\    She  opens  the  door  of  a  reception-room,  handsome  and 
»  costly  in  every  appointment,  but  with  the  chill  aii  of  a  state 
apartJiient   not  often   used.     They   are   not   more   than  a 
moment  hère  when  the  door  opens  and  their  grandmother  is 
before  them. 
So  stately,  so  severe,  so  cold,  .«o  calm,  so  royal. 
Marie  has  seen  a  queen  more  toan  once,  but  a  queen  who 
.Md  not  loolf  hîlf  so  unapproachable  as  this  lady  with  the 
«ilver  hairand  smileless  face.     But  Marie   Landelle  is  not 
easily  frightened,  she  has  known  the  power  of  that  magical 
face  of  hers  too  long  to  doiibt  its  potency  hère.     She  goes 
up  with  both  arms  outstretched,  and  touches  lightly,  .and 
quickly,  and  gracefully  first  one  cheek  and  then  the  other. 

"  Grandmamma,"  she  says  softly,  and  tears  flash  into  the 
lovely  eyes,  "  we  hâve  corne." 

Neither  by  word  nor  sign  does  Mrs.  Windsor  reply.  She 
«ubmits  to  the  caress  with  just  a  gleam  of  scom  passing 
across  her  face,  and  her  eyes  rest  on  that  othff  smaller 
darker,  less  fair,  ànd  more  shrinking  form. 
" Reine,"  Marie  says,  " corne,  Petite." 
She  cornes  forward  and  bows  very  low.  Mrs.  Windsoi 
holds  out  her  hand,  and  Reine  lifts  it  and  touches  it  with  hei 
pale  lips.     Then  grandmamma  speaks/gr  the  first  time. 

"  You  are  like  your  mother,"  «He  says,  lodking  fyll  at 
Marie,  and  therc  is  not  a  particle  ot  émotion  in  face  or  voice, 
"only  yery  much  handsomer.     You  are  like— ^-" 

"  I  am  like  my  father,"  Reine  answers,  and  i^  there  is  a 
ring  of  défiance  in  her  tone,  it  is  involuntary  and  unpremedi- 
tated. 

"  I  never  saw  your  father,"  Mrs.  Windsor  responds,  and 
Ac  eyes  that  rest  on  Reine  are  full  of  chill  displeasure. 
"  Mr  Longworth  "  — she  turts  to  die  elder  sister  as  she  rayi 
''came  witfi  you,  of  course  /* 


"To  the  door,  madame. 
Ittentive  ail  the  way." 


He  has  been  most  kind  an<f 


90 


UPS.    WTNDSÔR  AT  HOME. 


9 


r- . 


"Mr.  LoKgwoktficould  not  be  othcrwise." 

She  rings  a  bell,  and  a  second  and  naore  youthfîil  womat 
lervant  appears. 

"  Show  thèse  young  ladies  to  their  rooms,  Qatherine,  an^ 
leait  upon  them.  Arie  you  toc  fatigued  to  corne  down  staii  ■ 
again  this  evening?  If  so,  Catherine  will  fetch  you  *ha! 
erer  yoji  jiiay  désire  to  your  rooins." 

"  We  will  corne  down,  madame,  with  ycur  permission," 
amswers  Marie. 

"Very  well.  I  dine  at  three.  Early  hours  best  agrée 
with  me,  I  find,  I  take  tea  at  seven.  It  is  now  half-pasf 
*ix — sufllicient  time  for  you  to  change*  your  dress.  Youi 
trunks  shall  be  taken  up  at  once.  You  will  hear  the  bell  at 
■even." 

She  motions  to  Catherine  to  lead  the  way.  ^Both  young 
ladies  make  a  sliding  obeisance  in  passing,  which  she  re- 
turns  with  a  stately  behd.  A  court  réception  jould  hardi} 
be  more  formai  or  cerenionious,  and  ail  the  way  upstairt 
Marie  is  laughing  softly  ta  herself, 

"Ma  foi/"  she  thinfl||É^but  that  is  a  grand  old  lady— 
a  grandmamma  to  bé  'pmPof  1  Poor  mamma  I  how  utterly 
unlike  she  was  !  h  fine  house,  too,  carpets  like  velvets,< 
pictures,  statuary,-  ^aten  hangings,  mirrors,  everything  one 
likes  most.     We  were  wise  to  côme."  ^ 

Their  rooms,  when  they  reach  them,  adjoin  each  other 
are  spacious.  and  tasteful.  The  French  beds,  tucked  up  ail 
white  and  tight,  look  tempting.  Hère,  too,  are  pretty  pic- 
tures, lace  draperies,  mirrors,  gilt  vases,  and  fragrant  flowers 

"  Ah  !  this  is  charming,  is  it  not,  Petite  ?"  cries  Marie,  in 
French  ;  "  and  the  grandmother  an  empress,  my  faith  !  Thii 
it  difTeient  froni  the  Islington  lodgings;,  &nd  our  one  grimy 
bedroom  in  the  three  pair  back.  Did  I  not  say  it  was  weM 
to  corne  ?  " 


"We  were    not    laterlcpeTs    at    Islingtort,"   Reine    re 
«ponds  curtly  ;  "  the  grimy  lodgings  were  \otaft.     I  auiiigl 


.•iii*. 


aeifS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


9t 


I   were  in  i 


breathe   in  Ihis  house.      1   fuel  as   though 
prison." 

/«You  will  outgrow  ail  that,"  5ays  the  philosophical  Maiie. 
•Ouraunt  has  brought  you  up  badly,  Petite.  Hère  are  the  , 
^  boxes  What  shall  we  wear  ?  Black,  I  suppose.  I  saw  the 
eagle  eye  of  grandinaiiima  fixed  on  our  poor  gray  serge— and 
it  is  an  eagle  eye,  keen,  sidelong,  piercing.  As  we  hâve  only 
one  black  dress  each,  we  cannot  easily  b#  at  a  loss.  That, 
at  least,  is  a  comfort." 

She  laughs  as  she  says  it.     Her  sister  looks  at  her  almost 
>enviousIy. 

"  Wouldanything  put  you  out,  Marie,  I  wonder?"  * 

"  Not  a  fine  house,  a  dignified  grandmamma  in  rep  silk 
and  chantilly  lace,  and  a  speedy  prospect  of  high  tea  at  least 
How  will  you  ever  get  through  the  wo*J  where  every  trifle 
has  power  to  make  you  misérable  ?" 

jfNot  very  well,  I  am  afraid,"  Reine  sighs.  "  Send  away 
this  woman,  Marie  ;.see  how  she  stares.  We  do  not  want 
her." 

With  a  few  dulcet  words,  Catherine  is  dismissed,  and  de 
scends  to  the  kitchen  to  extol  to  the  skies  the  beauty  and 
•weetness  of  the  tall  young  lady.  The  little  one  is  too  dark 
and  foreign-like,  Catherine  sapiently  opines,  has  no  pretty 
looks  t6  speak  of,  and  isn't  no  way  so  pleasfant-spoken  as 
the  pretty  one. 

They  dress — Marie  in  a  tolérably  new  black  silk,  Reine  in 
A  by  no  means  new  grenadine.      But  both  dresses  in  nukc 
and  fit  show  French  skill  and  taste,  and  both  dress  their  hâii 
'  in  the  prevailing  mode,  which,  by  somerare  chance,  happcr.s   ' 
to  be  a  becoming  one.  ^y^ 

"  I  shall  not  wear  a  scrap  of  color  anywhere,"  says  Marie 
as  she  fastens  a  cravat  of  black  lace  at  her  white  throat  ;  "  it     . 


■^ 


^11  not  do  tô  shock  grandmaminà's  préjudices  the  veiy  fihf 
evening." 

She  does  not  necd  color.    Th«  black  silk  sets  oit  the  ÎMk 


,  \ 


u 


i^'its 


..9» 


MRS     WTffDSCK   AT  HOME. 


face,  tie  16ve)y  bright  hair  is  Iirilliniicc  siifficient.  She,<needl 
neithc:  ribbon,  nor  flower,  nor  jewel,  to  enhance  her  [terfect 
beauty,  and  she  knows  it. 

"  I  shall  wear  what  I  always  wear,"  says  Reine,  and  whea 
the  grenadine  is  on,  takes  froni  one  of  the  bouquets  two  decp 
orimson  roses,  and  fastens  one  in  her  breast,  the  cth«i 
over  her  left  ear,  and  lights  herself  up  effectvvely  in  a  se 
cond. 

The  supper  bell  rings  as  she  turns  from  the  glass,  and  thc) 
gj|  down  stairs.  Catheràie  awaits  them  in  the  lower  hall, 
and  ushers  them  into  that  particular  apartment,  where  Long- 
worth  was  the  other  night  received,  and  where  Mrs.  Windsor 
always  takes  tea.  One  brief,  coniprehensive  glance  she  gives 
them,  and  there  is  a  slight  compression  of  the  lips  as  she 
sees  the  red  roses.  But  she  makes  no  comtnent  ;  she  points 
3ut  their  seats,  and  takes  her  iilace  to  préside.  Marie 
V  glances  complacently  over  the  well  appointed  table  ;  young 
ladies,  as  a  rule,  are  the  farthest  possible  from  epicures  • 
Mlle.  Landelle  is  an  exception.  Quantity  she  niay  not  caré 
for,-  quality  she  certainly  does  ;  first-rate  dinners  and  perfect 
cookery  she  has  not  always  been  used  to,  but  she  knows 
both,  and  can  appVeciate  both  when  she  gets  them. 

Out  pf  considération  for  their  exhausting  day  of  travel,  the 
table  is  abunda^nlly  and  substantially  spread,  and  at  the  head 
of  her  own  table  Mrs.  Windsor,  even  to  her  unwelcome 
granddaughters,  is  almost  gracious.  People  said  this  lady 
had  "charming  manners,"  was  a  "  perfect  hostess,"  and  the^ 
said  rignt  Even  the  enemy  who  broke  her  bread,  and  aU 
he;-  sait,  became  worAy  of  considération  for  the  tirae.  But 
when  the  meal  ended  and  she  arose,  she  slowly  but  surelj 
froze  again.  She  sat  down,  her  ringed  hands  crossed  in  hei 
lap,  and  watched  her  granddaughters  as  they  moved  aboul 
the    room.      Tiere  was  a  piano   in  a  corner,  and  Mariy 


oi)ene3  it,  and  ran  her  fingers  over  tne  keys  with  a  skilled 
louch.    Reine  stood  at  one  of  the  Windows,  and  watched  thf 


.»,^ 


MRS.    WINDSOR  4T  HOM&, 


93 


•weet  «ommer  twilight  falling,  and  the  sweét  suiiimrr  s;  irt 
colne  out 

"  There  are  one  or  two  tlîings  I  would  like  t^  say  f o  you, 
ïoung  ladies,"  Mrs.  Windsor  begins  at  last,  and  low  as  her 
vcice  is;  it  seem^  to  jar  on  the  stillness  ;  "  but  purhaps  it  is 
ftbiiost  too  soon,  to  speak  to-night.  It  is  always  best  to  corne 
to  a  perfect  underàtanding  as  spcedily  as  may  be  ;  it  savea 
passible  unpleasantness  in  the  future.  But  if  you  wish  I  will 
defer  what  I  hâve  to  say  until  to-morrow." 

"  Whatever  you  wish,  dear  madame,'^  Marie  is  gently  be- 
ginning,  when  Reine  turns  suddenly  from  the  windaw. 

"  Madame  is  right,"  she  says,  a  ring  of  decisioif»  scarcely 
to  be  expected,  in  her  tone  ;  "  it  is  always  best  to  know  pre- 
cisely  how  we  stand  at  once.  We  do  not  wish  you  to  defer, 
on  our  account,  anything  you  may  hâve  to  say  until  to-mor- 
row." ...  ' 

"  Very  vt^l."  She  looks  surprised  and  slightly  displeased 
at  the  abrupt  interruption.  "  If  you  will  leave  that  window, 
and  sit  down;pall  I  hâve  to  say  can  be  said  in  a  very  few 
minutes." 

Reine  obéys.  Marie  takes  a  low  rocker,  Reine  seats  her- 
self  in  Longworth's  especial  arm-chair,  her  small  face  looking 
white  and  still  in  the  faint  pale  âusk. 

"I  need  not  tell  you,"  begins  Mrs.  Windsor  in  her  very 
coldest  voipe,  "  that  when  your  mother  eloped  with  your 
(ather,  she  was  discarded  from  this  house  at  once  and  forever. 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  she  wrote  me  many  letters  imploring 

pjLrdon  and -mÈ|rley.     I  rieed  not  tell  you  ihose  letters, 

one  and  ail,  were  consîgned  to  the  fire,  and  never  answercd. 
Ail  this  you  know.  When  your  father  wrote  of  his  wife's 
death,  it  did  not  move  me.  I  neither  grieved  for  her,  nor 
regrette4  "ler.  I  had  cast  her  out  of  my  heart  many  yean 
before  ;  di&hadbeen  dead  to  tz^&from  the  hour  she  becaïae^ 


Monsieur  Landelle's  wife.     When,  later,  you  informed  me  <A 
his  death,  it  did  not  as  a  matter  of  course  conçein  n^e  ftt  lUl. 


»t-x 


94 


M«3   ty/jv^so.k  AT  houteA 


^\ 


•■  Y' 


N^v 


But  when  stUI  later,  young  ladies,  you  wrote  announcini 
your  intention  of  coming  hère,  it  became  necessaiy  to  take 
some  deasive  step.  You  merely  said  you  were  coming,  and 
vou  gave  no  address  to  which  I  could  write  to  prevent  that 
coming.  Still  I  took  décisive  measures— the  first  bein.  to 
,     niake  niy  will,"  ,        * 

She  pauses.  The  dusk  is  deepening  in  the  room,  the  three 
figures  sit  motionless,  the  low,  harsh  voice  of  the  speakei 
alone  breaks  the  twilight  silence.  Marie  sits,  one  hand  ovei 
hereyes;  Reine  sits,  both  hands  çlencked  hard  and  fast  in 
her  lap,  as  one  might  in  the  mute  â-gony  of  physical  pain,  hei 
eyes  gleaming  in  the  semi-darkness. 

"I  am  averyrichwoman,"  pursues  Mrs.  Windsor,  "there 
are  few  richer  in  the  State  tp-day.     I  made  my  will,  and  I 
bequeathed  every  dollar  of   that  wealth.  which   has  been 
accumulatmg  in  the  Windsor  family  for  nearly  one  hundred 
years  to  the  only  human  being  on  earth  I  greatly  care  for,  / 
the  gentleman  who  brought  you  hère,  Mr.  Laurence  Long/' 
worth.     Why  I  care  for  hira  you  need  not  know-the  fact 
remams.     My  will  is  made,  and  at  my  death  ^1  that/I 
possess  is  bequeathed  to  him."  / 

.      She  pauses  again.    Still  profbund  silence,  and  in  art  instant 
»he  goes  on.  7 

"  The  second  step  I  proposed  taking  was,  to  go  t</New 
York,  meet  you  there  upon  the  landing  of  the  Hesi.er^a,  pay 
your  returiT  passage,  and  scnd  you  back,  settling  an  îinnuity 
-oneach  suffieient  at  least  to  keep  you  fro.n  want/  Tha! 
was  my  fixed  résolve.  13ut  before  going,  I  sent  for  Mi 
Longworth,  and  told  him  of  my  plans,  showed  him  yo/ir  lettei 
«nd  informed  him  he  was  my  heir." 

Every  few  minutes  Mrs.  Windsor  pauses,  and  in  thes« 
rwises  Reine  can  hear  the  beating  of  her  otm  angry 
lebellious,  passionats  heart. 


"  Mn  Longworth  is  a  man  ofroen;  â  gentleinikn  of  h%T« 
K)noi  and  spotless  integrifv— he  refused  to  accept  the  fortuiw 


I  ■ 


•Y> 


H-^ 


^ 


V  % 


MiRS.    WiNJ>SOR  AT   HOMS. 


95 


offered  liim.  He  so  positively  refuses  it,  that  it  l»econies 
necessary  for  nie,îo  think  of  some  other  disposition  of  il 
That,  however,  is-a  question  for  the  future.  I  told  him  also 
of  my  intention  of  sending  you  back,  and  found  him  so  reso 
lutely  opposée!  to  it,  that  1  was  forced  to  give  it  up.  lî* 
pleaded  your  right  to  conie  hère  so  forcibly,  that  at  l^fl 
yielded  to  his  judgment.  But  I  aiu  only  étating  the  çirtipll 
truth,  in  stating  that  you  owe  it  entirely  to  him  your  being 
hère  now— tliat  thèse  doors  ever  opened  to  receive  youi 
father-s  daughters.  To  Mr.  Longworth's  high  sensé  of  honoi 
and  right,'ycu  owe  whatever  gratitude  ift^  lie  due  for  the 
home  I  give  you — not 40  me."  i; 

Once  again  a  pause,      in  the  cre^ping  dark  Marie  «ill 
shades  her  eyes— in  Longworth's  own  chair  Reine  sits,  with 
bitter  hatred  of  Longworth  rising  and  swelling  in  her  heart. 
•♦  VVhat  I  intend  to  do  for  you,"  pursues  Mrs.  Windsor 
•'  is  easily  told.     Being  my  daughter's  daughters,  and  liavn.g 
received  you,  I  feel  it.due  to  myself  and  my  position   to 
receive  you  becomingly.     I  shall   présent  you  to  the  best 
Society  of  Baymouth  at  a  réception  next  <veek  ;  I  shall  settle 
upon  you  a  yearly  income,  to  be  paj|^in  quarterly  installa 
ments,  in  advance,  sufficient  toenablfJ|i  to  dress  well,  anJ 
as    becomes    my    granddaughters,  <  wiliout   troubling  me. 
Your  first  installment  will  be  paid  you  tomorrow;  and, 
remember,  l'shall  expect  your  wardrobe  at  ail  tSmes  to  dci 
m^^  crédit.     Beyond  that  you  will  be  in  ail  things  your  own 
mistresses,  free  to  corne  and  go,  to  mingle  in  society  hère, 
and  to  make  friends.      Punctuality  at  meals  I  shall  expect 
of  course.    This  is  ail  I  hâve  to  say.     I  hâve  spoken  plainly, 
but  plain  speaking  is  always  best,  and  the  subject  need  neve» 
be  renewed.     I  look  for  neither  gratitud»*  nor  affeçtion—l 
need  hardly  say  I  do  not  expect  to  g^e  it.     And  now,  as 
jroujmust  be  fa^igued  afteiL  your  day'%U»veling,  I  wUl  detaHN= 
jrott  no  longer.     \Ve  understand  each  other.     Is  there  any 
tking  you  hâve  to  say  before  you  go  ?  * 


9«> 


Jmsl  WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


Both  youngladiesiis^,  atidstànd  silentlyfora  triefinitaat 
rheu  Marie  speaks.      ^ 

"  Nothing,  madame,"  she  says  in  a  veiy  loir  voicc.      •«  1 
wish  you  good-night."    '  ' 

"  Good  night,"  briefly  responds  Mrs.  Windsor. 

Reine  does  net  speak  at  alL  She  bows  in  passing,  and 
receives  a  bend  of  the  haughty  head,  and  so  they  pass  out 
a  the  darkening  sitting-room  in&  the  hall.  The  gas  is 
ht  îiere.  As  they  go  ypstairs  j^,^  hear  Mrs.  Windsor 
nnging  for  lights-she  doe?,  not  lil^p  that  haiinted  hour. 
twilight.  '''  "% 

In  their  rooins,  too,  the  gas  is  buraing,  and  tui  led  low. 
As  Reme  shuts  the  door,-  both  sisters  face  each  other  in 
that  pallid  light 

"Welll"  says  Marie,  drawing  a  long  breath  ;  "that  i« 
pver  1     It  was  like  a  douche  of  ice  water  on  a  winter  mom-- 
ing.     And  to  think  that  but  for  the  blond  monsieur  with  the 
cold  eyes,  we  would  hâve  been  sent  back  in  the  next  «hip  1 
Mon  Dieu  /  " 

"  Marie  !  "  Reine  cries,  pale  with  passion,  her  eye«  afire, 
her  dark  hand  clenched  ;  "  I  hâte  that  raan  !  " 

"Ido  not,"  says  Marie  coolly;  "I  thank  him  with  aU 
my  heart.  That  high  sensé  of  honor  of  yours,  monsieur,  ii 
emmently  convenient.  Thanks,  Mr.  Laurence  Longworth, 
for  favors  past,  présent,  and  to  come  !  " 

She  sweeps  him  a  mocking  courtesy,  then  throws  herseU 
Oi  her  bed. 

'  I  need  not  mind  crushing  my  black  silk,"  she  says, 
ladghmg— "my  ose  poor  five-and-sixpenny  silk^to-monow 
our  fitst  quarter's  allowance  is  to  be  paid.  Oh,  hoir  sleepy 
I  am!— lectures  are  always  sleepy  things.  Reft^,  Petite, 
get  rid  of  that  tragic  face,  and  let  us  go  to  bed." 
"To    hink,"    Reine  says,  in  a  stifled  voice,  passionate 


-teanhin  her  eyes,  "that  btrt  for  thaTman,  ffiàrûit^trahgei^ 
we  wottld  hâve  been  sent  back  like  beggars,  that  but  fg»  \m 


v. 


assionate 


^XS.    WME^SOR  AT  ITOME.  9^ 

pleading  we  would  hâve  bcep  scôrned  and  spumedV    Oh  I  J 
'    htte  him,  I  hâte  hiin  IV  r    ^        ,«  u 

"  I  always  said  the  aunt  did  not  bring  you  up  well,  Petite. 
It  is  very  wxked  to  hâte  any  one.     And  tbe  blond  niohsieui 
W  not  an  utter  stranger  to  pur  gentle  grandnianjma  at  leaât- 
did  »he  not  say  he  was  the  only  being  on  earth  she  cared  fcTr 
And  once  more  I  kiss  his  Jordjbip's  hand  for  thî  good  he  ha« 

"Marie,"  Reine  impetudusly  bursts  forth,  "  I  wish,  1  wish. 
Iwishwehadnevereomel    I  did  not  want  to  corne.    1 
would  rather  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone  than  hâve  daintief- 
Jung  to  me  hke  a  dog.    Oh  I  why  did  you  write  tlm  letter  ?  .- 
Whydidweever  corne  hère?".  ^        ' 

"  Becaùse  it  was  wise  to  write,  and  weU  to  c«ïme.    Listcn 
h«re  Petite."     ghe  «ft,  herself  on  her  elbow  ^d  the  gas- 
hght  falls  across  the  white  ioveliness  of  her  face.     '«  It  is  very 
fine  to  talk.ofworking  one's  fingers  to  the  bone,"  but  I  couid 
not  do  ..,  and  wôuld  not  if  I  co^ld.     I  an,  young  and  pretly, 
Uike  s.lk  dresses  ànd  soft  beds.  haâdsome  rooms,  knd  goad 
dmriers,  servants  to  wait  on  me,  and  a  fine  house  to  live  in 
Ail  thèse  we  are  to  have-^11  thèse  we  hâve  a  ri^ht  to.     I  do 
"''*^''  ""^"^^"^  *^^  grandmother,  nor  monsieur  théfriend 
-n^gtthatl     It  is  our  right  and  our  due.     Don'tybiire- 
men%rwbat  poorSLeonce  used  to  say-'Man  has  a  sov- 
ereign  rjght  to  aifïïe  can  get.'     For  ail  thèse  good  things  we 
take  a  few  cold  looks,  a  few  harsh  words,  and  even  thèse 
11.11e  w,n  change.     Go  to  bed.  Petite,  and  never  say  again 
y«)U  hâte  Monsieur  Longworth."  * 

"  Good-iiight,"  .Reine  says,  and  goes  at  once.  "  SIeep 
well,  my  angel,"  cheerily  responds  Marie,  and  Uien  die  door 
bclwoen  the  roouis  closes,  and  each  is  alone. 

Marie  goes  to  bed,  and  to  sleep,  but  {ongafter  thatbeauty 
»14cp  has  begun.  ând^  shë  Tiës  liTher  darkched  çhamber,  t 
visiOM  of  slumbering  loveli.icss,  and  swectness,  and  youth,    ' 
Reine  kneels  by  her  open  window,  trying  to  stiU  the  tumul 


A. 


r' 


A-. , 


BEFORM. 


{ 


hioiis  beating  of  her  undisciplined  hcari,  ti>îng  t<f(baaU 

hatreidt  îli-will,  and  ail  uhcharitableness  towârd  thjs  stranger 

and  look  at  things  calmly  aqd  réasonabtyj  Irtcc  Marie.     Bb? 

«^e  is  nciiher  calni  hor  reasonable,  and  it  is  very  long  beibn 

sne  can  crush  down  ail   tbat   sinful  aiiger  and   rébellion 

Tears  fall  hotly  and  swiftly  froiii  betwecn  the  finffen  âk»t 

fiide  her  face,  brdkèn  niurmurs  of  prayer  fall  froni  her  lips  ; 

sonietliing  about  strengjl>  for  the  accomplîshing  of  "/a  vohtUi 

suprême,    O,   Dieu  notre  Père,"  and   with   prayer  cornes 

-  peaçe.     The  one  Friend  who  never  refuses  to  hear,  call  when 

.and  where  they  wUl,  "the  dry  of  sorrowing  hunvin  soûls  foi 

help^  sends  help  and   conifort-both,  and  as  she  kneels  the 

tears  cease,  andjhe  starlight  fa^Hs  like  a  bénédiction  on  t^ 

bowed  dark  heaii  <      ^ 


J 


-^ 


CHAPTÈR  VIII. 


BCrORK. 

RANK,  niy  dear,'  sayJj  Miss  Harioit,  "this  is  grow 
ing  iiionotonous.     I  thought  a  week  of  New  York 
essential  to  niy  happiness;  but  I  find  three  days  a 
great  abundance.     This  perpétuai,  never-ceasing  streanï  of 
«4iien  and  women  rushhig  up  and  down  Broadway,  as  If  il 
wcre  what  they  caine  into  the  world  for  is  dazing  me.     Thr 
din  and  cmsh  of  tHe  streets  are  beginning  to  be^KJJder  me 
If  you  would  not  see  me  a  hopeless  nianiac  pn  your  handi, 
Frank,  take  lîie  home,  I  Conjure  you." 
"  Miss  Hariott  makes  this  speech  at  the''hotel  breakfast-tabU 
where  she*and  Frank  sit  alone.     'llie  window  àt  which  thç» 
•il  ûonts  on  liroadway,  and  the  usual  ebb  ind  flew  of  hunm 
Hy  that  pours  up  and  down  that  gréa  t  ai  îery  of  the  cit/7 
ihiobbing  heait.  at  half-past  ninex>f  a  fine  "May  momiig,  », 

■        .    .  ■        [  • 


À- 


Bf-.FvkR. 


^ 


<. 


% 


•I  fit!  beiglit.     Mf.   Dcxtçr,  wliose  iiiaiiitin.:^!  aj.i>c\Me  an<1 

^ipilit»  are  excellent  as  ysual,  protests  lliat  hc"livei»'Lul  lo 

.  obey,  that  thc  faintest  of  Miss  Hariotf's  wijjhes  aAi  to  hiin  as' 

Ihe  •«  firriian  "  of  the  Sultan  to  a  True  bclicvcr,  aiu)  that  al 

(hough  u,.  to  (lie  présent  he  has  cl.crishetl  ihe  l.ope  ofen- 

counteriiiK  the  "  little  Jadies,"  he  no«r  at  last  resJgns  it  as  à 

■h^aJtioo  brighfandgÔbd  toberearîzed.  ^       :;     . 

"And  I   know  that  girl  with  the  vail  wâs  prétty,"  says  ^ 
Frank,  pathetically  ;  "it  is  hafrTTnes  after  dcjoting  myself 
as  I  did,  ail  the  way  across,  to  Mademoiselle  J^ne,  to  part 
at  last  and  forever  without  so  much  as  one  good-by.     But 
luch  are  the  floorèrs  of  faté:"       -^-  ,#       ' 

"  How  do  you  know  yàxi  hâve  parted  forever  ?  "  says  Miss 
HartptL     "  I  don't  «ountenance  betting  ai^a  rule,  but  I  am 
^will^g  to  wager  a  box  of  gloves-number  six  anà  three^uar-     , 
ters— shadBs  dark-browns  and  grays-^thaf  before  you  are  a 
week  older  ydfc.  will  hâve  met  agamtHè  "  little  ladies" 

«  Dondjl  "  cries  Mn  Dexter,  and  producipg  book  and  pen-  ' 
cU  on  tbe/spoj,  gfavely  envers  the  "bet  :  "  sixknd  three-quar- 
ters^^ark^browns  and'grays.     Miss  Hariott,  jf  you  hâve  theii 
New  York  address,  let  us  go  up  and  call  upôn  the.n  at  once.  • 
l  ihall  never  breathe  easily  until  I  h^ve  fulfiUed  my  destioy 
and  fallen  m  love  with  that  girl  with  the  golden  hair." 

"Frank,  l 'woiuler  if  ail  young  men  are  as  h'opelessh  *  ■ 
Idiotie  as  you  are,  with  your  perpétuai  talk  ôf  falling  in  love. 
As  if  great  hobbledehoys  of  two-and-twenty  could  know  what      ^ 
the  Word  meîtnt.     No,  my  precious  tSoy,  this  is  our  last  dav 
a>  th«  citj,  and  you  are  to  take  me  to  G^eenwood  ai.d  Pros 
pect  l'ark..  That  will  occupy  the  day.     We  wiU  get  back  to 
■^su-o'clock  dmner,  and  then  we  are  going  to  see  •  Rip  Va» 
Winkle.'     And  by  to-morrow  morning's  earUest  express  wc 
wm  shake  the  wicked  dust,of  Gotham  off  our  wandering  feel 
=:^d  go  baek  to  ^yipouth,  f^ir  Baymôulh,  peièëTuf^T^^ 
mouth,  sadder  and  wiser  beings  for  ail  this  foreign  gaddina.' 
"Batyouiaid •  * 


."->. 


100 


MEFOA  i. 


Pt.y  attentioa  U)  ^hat  I  «m 


**Never  nùnd  what  I  said. 
laying  n«)w." 

"  You  said  I  would  nieet  niy  little  kdies— ^— " 
"Mr.  Dexter,  1  am  on  my  way  to  my  apartnient  to  put 
on  my  bonnet  for  our  excursion.  You  are  to  stand  at  thi» 
door  and  Wait  for  me  until  I  cônie  down,  and  on  penalty  of 
the  eternal  lossof  my  friendship.you  are  net  so  niuch  as  to 
name  any  ladies,  little  or  large,  in  my  hearing  for  therest  ot 
tlie  day." 

Ui)on  which  Miss  Hariott  "sweeps"  out  of  the  room,  and 
Frank  sighs  and  résigna  himself  to  his  destinv.     Presently 
«he  reappears;  they  hail  an  omnibus,  and  go  rattling  off  to 
one  of  the  ferries,  to  begin  this  last  day's  sight-seeing. 
1   It  is  a  long,  warm,  sunny  day.     Frank  forgets  his  troublei 
and  enjoys  it,  looks  at  ail  the  handsome  vaults,  and  monu- 
ments, and  mausoleums  with  the  complacent  feeling  that  he 
is  on  the  right  side  of  them.     Late  in  the  niellow  aftemoon 
they  return,  and  the  programme  is  gone  through,  dinner 
Booth's,  and  the  last  day  in  New  York  is  at  an  end.     Next 
Tiornmg  sees  thcui  on  the  train,  and  next  evéning  sees  them 
«afely  back  in  Baymouth. 

"  Dear  dirty  New  England  town  !  "  murmurs  Miss  Hariott 
•s  she  lies  back  in  the  cab  and  watches  with  contented  eyes 
the  flittmg,  familiar  landscape  ;  "dear  disagreeable  North 
Baymouth.  I  salute  you!  Fralnk,  I  would  insist  upon  yom 
coming  home  and  stopping  with  me  during  ycmr  stay  only 
I  know  it  would  bore  you  to  death,  and  that  you  would  evei 
■o  much  rather  go  to  Mrs.  I^ngworth's." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  says  Frank,  "  Larry's  there  and  the  rcst 
of  the  fellows,  and  I  always  stop  there,  and  it  would  put  vou 
ont  hombly  to  hâve  a  great  fellow  like  me  knocking  aboal 
jour  little  doll's  house.    Thanks  ail  the  same,  Miss  Hariott 
jfiawfuUyjollytQjie  with  you— sheuldnt  wish  for  bettei  - 
eompan/  ail  my  life— but  it  wou/d  put  you  out,  you  know." 
••  And  put  you  out  a  great  deal  more,"  laughs  Mi«  f  lariott 


a;V'  '■ 


^^^■- 


BÈfoUÊ. 


toi 


I  anderstaftd,  Master  Frank.     Give  my  rcgarJs  to  Mr 

.  Lonporth  j  teh  hini  to  corne  and  see  me  as  soon  as  he  can , 

:  and  for  you-show  your  gratitude  for  ail  the  care  I  havé 

takenofyou  Sinœ  we  met  in  the  Hesperia  by  droppuig  in 

eveiy  dayi"  '  *^^ 

They  shake  hands  and  part.  Miss  Hariotfs  home  is  a 
cottage,  many  streets  removed  from  either  Mrs.  Longwoith'i 
.  or  the  Stone  House-a  tiny,  two-story  cottage,  with  honey- 
suckle  an»g,nia  crecper,  and  ail  sorts  of  climbing  thinn 
m  front,  an^Vape-vines,  and  thrifty  peach  and  plum  treci 
m  the  rear. 

"   A  doU's  house,  as  Frank  has  said,  with  a  big  bay  window 
bulging  out  of  one  end,  filled  with  roses,  and  fuchsias  and 
nch  géraniums.     A  house  •«  too  small  to  live  in,  and  too  bis 
to  hang  to  your  watch-chain,"  as  Longworth  quotes,  but 
amply  large  for  Miss  Hariott  and  her  one  handniaiden  •  Iftge 
enough,  too,  for  Longworth  hiraself  to  be  luxuriou8<^  la!y 
in,  many  a  time  and  oft.     The  one  serv^ant,  a  tall,  thia 
beautifully  neat  and  intelligent  mulatto  woman,  opens  tht 
door  to  her  mistress,  at  sight  of  whom  her  whole  yellow  fac< 
lights  and  glows, 

"  Well,  Candace,"  Miss  Hariott  says,  holding  out  he. 
hand,  «home  again,  you  see.  Ah  I  we  don't  need  the  oUI 
wng  to  tell  us  there  is  no  place  like  it.  How  good  it  seems 
to  see  the  dear  little  house  and  your  familiar  face.  And 
how  are  you,  and  how  are  the  birds,  and  the  flowers.  ai  d 
everythmg,  and  everybody ?" 

"  Fvet)  tMng  and  everybody  are  well,"  Candace  answen 
sniihng  jubiiantly  ail  over  her  face,  and  "  bless  the  Loid  thaï 
missis  is  back  safe  and  sound.  And  Mass  Larry,  missii 
he  8  been  hère  every  day  a'  njost  :o  look  after  the  gardes 
and  see  that  it  was  fixed  us  you  liked  And  there's  a  hic 
H>ookây  iîraw  pàrTor  now,  mîssîs,  thàt  He  sent  an  hour  aw^ 
cause  he  said  therc  was  no  knowin'  what  artrrnoon  yoa'd 
corne.     And  tea's  ready.  missis,  and  jest  as  soon  as  I  fel| 


..  i 


\ 


'^•f- 


foa 


ÊRFORR. 


fetch  m  thcse  tn:nks,  TU  bring  in  the  thing,.  And  blM 
»ie  good  Lord,  missis,  that  you's  back  again.  It'g  bccE 
powerful  lonesome  now,  I  tell  yer,  since  you  went.  and  Masi 
l'arry,  missis,  he  say  so  too." 

Miss  Hariott  goes  into  the  pretty  parlor,  with  its  lace 
cmtains,  and  délicate  adornments,  its  piano  and  well-fiUed 
masicrack,  its  tables  sbewn  with  ail  the  latest  books  wic' 
magazines,  and  on  a  little  stand  Longworth's  big  bwuquet 
She  glances  at  it  and  smiles-it  is  lilce  hini  to  think  of  l,o, 
^   and  send  this  to  weicome  her.     Everything  in  the  room  i,' 
associated  m  sonie  way  with  him  ;  thèse  books  and  periodi- 
cals  are  from  him  ;  she  is  his  reviewer  sometin.es  when  he  is 
m  a  inercful  niood;  that  sunny  Southern  landscape  over 
the  niantel  ,s  his  gift  ;  there  is  his  favorite  place  at  that  open, 
^ce-draped  w.ndow,  where   throi.gh  so  ruany  long,  warni. 
sûnr.mer  evenings,  through  so  niany  blusterous  winter  nights 
hé  has  sat  and  talkecl,  or  read,  or  iistened  in  a  waking  dream 
td^ier  mus.c-her  trurand  good  friend  from  ftrst  to  last. 
And  there  is  no  one  in  ail  the  world  quite  so  dear  to  her  as 
this  fnend.     He  is  the  sort  of  man  to  whom  many  women 
give  love,  not  alone  the  love  of  which  poets  sing,  and  novel- 
«sts  Write,  as  if  human  hearts  held  no  other,  but  friendshin 
strong,  and  tender,  and  true,  ail  the  nobler  and  more  lastiny 
perhaps,  because  utterly  unblended  with  passion 

Wlule  Miss  Hariott  sits  in  her  cosy  hou.e,  and  sips  hc, 
ea  m  the  hght  of  the  sunset,  Frank  Dexter  is  dining  wi.l 
Ae  boarders,  and  retailing  his  adventures  by  land  and  s.a 
They  are  mterested  in  thèse  adventures,  but  far  more  inte, 
csted  m  an  event  which  is  to  corne  off  the  day  after  tonio, 
row  Mrs.  Windsor-everybody  there  is  profôundly  inter 
esied  m  Mrs.  AVindsor-Mrs.  Windsor's  granddaughters  hâve 
arnved  from  Europe,  and  on  the  evening  but  on.  from  thii 
^are  to  be  prcsented  to  Hay..,outh  in  form.     they  hav« 

teen  at  the  Stonc  Uouseiw  four  rbys;  bliTTiô  cne  hi,  ,ceY 

ihem  yet.  it  would  ap,H-ar,  except  Ix^ug^vorth.     I.mgwortb 


.3^;:-, 


B&fOttS. 


10» 


*et  them  in   New  York,  Lbngworth  eicorted  them  hom^ 

ftnd  has  spent  two  evenings  in  their  sociely,  and  Longworth 

has  been  plied  with  questions  on  ail  sides  since,  with  breath- 

less  interest  ai.d  eagerness.     Are  tliey  pretty  ?     But  Mary 

Windsor's  daughters,  cry  out  the  elders  of  thc  party,  mus! 

jf  necessity  be  that,  and  then  the  Frenchman  was  said  to  be 

an  uncommonly  handsome  man.     That  old,  half  forgotten 

«tory  has  cropped  up  from  the  dust  and  ashes  of  the  pas\, 

and  Mary  Windsor's  romance  of  one-and-twenty  years  ago 

has  rang  the  changes  over  and  over  during  thèse  four  days, 

at  every  dinner-table  of  note  in  the  town.     And  did  Mri 

Windsor  send  for  thèse  girls,  and  are  they  to  be  her  heir- 

esses,  and  are  they  really  handsome,  and  are  they  thorough- 

iy  French,  and  do  they  talk  broken  English,  and  will  every- 

body  Mrs.  Windsor  knows  get  cards  ?     There  is  a  flutter  ol 

expectation  through  Baymouth,  and  Mr.  Longworth  of  the 

Phénix,  the  only  man  who  can  enlighten  them,  awakes  ail  at 

once  and  finds  himself  famous. 

He  takes  the  breathless  questions  that  beset  him  in  his  eus- 
tomary  phlegmatic  way,  smokes  and  listens,  and  laiighs  a  little, 
and  drops  a  few  syllables  that  are  as  oil  to  the  fire  of  curiosity. 

Jî'rank  Dexter  pricks  up  his  ears  as  he  listens,  with  an  in 
terest  quite  as  great  as  that  of  those  around  him. 

"Came  four  days  ago,  and  landed  at  New  York.  The 
Hesperia  landed  four  days  ago  at  New  York.  What  vessel 
cUd  they  cross  in,  Longwortli»?  " 

••  The  Hesperia,"  responds  Mr.  Longworth,  placidly,  help 
mg  himself  to  mint  sauce. 

"  By  George  I  "  cries  Dexter  with  a"^  energy  that  makes 
Wf  hearers  jump,  "that  is  what  Miss  Hariott  ineant  when 
•he  bet  the  gloves.  Mrs.  Windsor's  granddaughters  are  m) 
Little  Ladies." 

Expluiations  are  dcmanded  awigivea. — Dexter  is  «xetieé=^ 


•  Ar<î  their  iianies  Reine  and  M    ie  f  "  he  demands  of  Ix>ng 
mxUk. 


104 


BtPOKM. 


mv  tTn  ^""^Warie  i»  thc  .Her.    Calm  youml^ 

myBaby,  says  the  uneihotional  Longworth .  "this«>rt  a 
thing  is  eminently  detrimental  to  the  proper  exercise  of  the 
digestive  organs." 

datifs  I^'f  ^Tfr  °'^^"''  ''  ^"«  ^""«  "^"«^I  *nJ 
dark,  with  splend,  J  brown  eyes,  very  white  teeth,  a  delight- 

fui  sniile,  and  just  the  faintest  foreign  accent  ?  " 

"AU  thèse  good  and  pleasant  gifts Mlle.  Reine  rejoices  ia 
my  Baby.  Splendid  eyes,  as  you  say.  large,  dark.  luminou^ 
wtU^  a  sunny  smde  m  them.  And  there  are  so  few  eyes  tha, 
«nile.    Now  for  the  other." 

.av?i  '/^7'f  Y  the  other.     She  kept  her  cabin  ail  the 
waj,  and  I  only  had  a  glimpse  of  her  vailed.    But  I  hâve 

pr"l;r^"''''°  ^'■°'"  '^'  ""'''  '^^'  ''''  "'"^^  ^'  ^^°nin«ly 

«  Stunningly  is  hardly  an  adverb  of  sufficient  force  when 

apphed  to  Mademoiselle  Landelle.     She  is  the  prettiesl 

complexion  or  hair  or  shape-though  thèse  are  ail  about 

ha^o  she  walks  m  them,  they  surround  her  as  an  atmosphère. 

Everytlung  she  does.  or  looks,  or  says,  is  graceful  ;  and  when 
^e  neither  does,  nor  looks  or  says  at  ail,  she  is.  if  possible, 
more  graceful  st.ll.     In  short,  Mlle.  Marie  Landelle  is  oné 
€»f  ftose  masterpieces  of  création  which  refuse  to  be  de 
•cnbed,  which  must  be  seen  to  be  believed  in  " 

AUthis  glowing  eulogium  Mr.  Longworth  pronounces  ii 
a  tone  devoid  of  every  particle  of  earthly  émotion,  witH  . 
face  gudtless  of  the  faintest  trace  of  admiration  or  enthusi- 
asm.  He  goes  placidly  on  with  his  dinncr  as  he  talks,  and 
passes  his  plate  for  another  help  of  peas  as  he  concludes 
Mn.  Longworth  laughs  shortly  as  she  returns  the  plate 
"  Are  you  in  love  with  her,  Laurence  ?   I  never  heard  yoa 

LenttiusiaBtic  about  anyone  beft»ë;«" 


«  Did  nu  not  ?  "  «ays  Longworth.      •  1  mought  ypu  had.» 


''-*  /'f) 


BÈPOJiÈ. 


tôj 


unccs  11 


rfif  eye.  dft  from  the  ,,eas,  and  fix  first  on  lei  xnd  then  on 
aer  daughter.  »  1  reme.nber  I  used  to  bore  ybu  with  m. 
rhapsodies  long  ago  ;  buta  man  who  runs  a  daily'and  wsekly 
Phénix  has  hardly  time  for  that  sort  of  thing."       ^ 

"  You  couldn't  do  better,  Longworth,"  says  Mr.  Beckwith 

'  each  of  thèse  girls  wiU  get  a  million  and  a  half.      \nd  if 

rfie's  the  beautj  yoa  say,  it  would  pay  bëtter  than  the  Phénix. 

A  fellow  hke  you  owes  a  duty  to  society-he  ought  to  marry 

and  settle."  °  .' 

"Aiid  faith  ifs  a  settler,  l'm  told,  most  men  find  it," 
murmursO'Sullivan  in  his  corner. 

"Ifs  romething  every  man  of  thirty  owes  to  his  country," 
pureues  the  speaker,  who  is  himself  a  full  décade  over  thaf 
golden  âge,  and  a  bridegroom  of  barely  two  months'  standing. 

"  Thirty-one  and  a  half,"  lazily  responds  the  editor. 

"Ifs  something  no  fellow  can  understand,"  says  Mr. 
O-SulUvan,  stiU  pianissimo,  "whymen,  when  they  run  into 
the  matrimonial  noose  themselves,  are  so  eager  to  drag  theii 
fellow-mortals  into  it  Ifs  the  old  principle  that  miser, 
loves  Company,  I  suppose," 

"At  thirty-two  every  man  sh^d  be,as  St  Paul  says,  the 
husband  of  one  wife " 

^„  ^""^  ^°"  P*"*^"*"»  ^*-  ^*"*  """^^  ^^  tmyûixng  of  tht 
^^H^said  eveiy  bishop  should  be  the  hisband  of  one^ 

"Longworth's  not  a  bishop,"  intemipts  Frank,  ««so  t1* 
tcxt  doesn't  apply." 

"  In  such  high  feather  as  you  are  with  the  old  womaa 
■  toc  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  or  you  to  èc 
^•^maildwin "  /      *"  8^ 

"  Don't  call  Mrs.  Windsor  the  old  woman,  Beckwith  •  sltt 
__wouldij  t  hke  it.     No  more  do  i,"  cuts  te  LongwotifiriSr^ 
disgusted  with  ail  thèse  interruprions,  Mr.  Beckwith  reUoi^     ' 
Bito  his  dinner. 

f 


wife 


Il  .„i  ifm'wmmmmigmimffifii' 


^m^mmumit 


106 


êEJ^O/ffi. 


-And  w.ien  is  the  party?  to-roorrow   aight?"  inqniift 
t  rank.     "  How  inany  of  you  hâve  invitations  ?  " 

No  one  has  an  invitation,  it  would  appear,  except  Mrs 
Kongworth  and  Mrs.  Sheldon.  Personally  Mrs.  Windso 
bkes  neitherof  thèse  ladies;  but  they  are  connections  cl 
Longworth's,  and  as  snch  are  bidden.  The  boarders  do  not 
>elorg  to  that  mner  circle  who  visit  at  the  Stone  House 
l^ngwoith  be.-ng  the  house-friend  of  madame  herself.  h., 
nmtation  goes  without  saying. 

"J   wifh   I   had   a   card,"   Frank  says  plaintively.      «I 
ZL—"  *""   '^^  ^'"'^'°'  visiting-Hst.     I  wonder  if  5he 

"I  think  I  may  venture  to  take  you.  Baby,"  savs  Long 
Y  h.  as  they  ns*  from  the  table,  '«  though  it  is  an  act  of 
ytoton  cmelty  to  expose  that  too  susceptible  hcart  ofyours 
to  tTTe  battery  of  Mlle.  Marie's  dazzling  charms.  Even  if 
you  do  go  clean  out  of  your  sensés  at  sight,  promise  to  try 
•nd  rest.amyourself  for  this  first  evening,  for  my  sake,  won't 

Frank  is  ready  to  promise  anything.  They  go  on  the 
piazza,  seat  themselves,  produce  cigars,  and  light  up.  The 
women  flatter  about  them,  and  Mrs.  Sheldon,  in  a  dress  of 
palest  blue,  agamst  which  her  plump  shoulders  glisten  white 
and  firni  as  marble,  takes  a  hassock  at  Longworth's  side,  and 
looks  up  at  him. 

"  Is  she  really  so  pretty,  Laurence^o  very,  very  |)retty  ?  " 
He  glances  do«m  at  her.     The  warm  after-glow  of  sunset 

IS  fluslnng  sky,  and  sea,  and  shore-it  flushes  too  for  U.e 

moment  Laura  Sheldon's  milk-white  skin,  or  else  she  color. 

onder  the  steadfast  look  of  Longworth's  eyes. 

"Totty,  when  you  don't  wear  white  you  sh.nild  alwayi 

ircar  blue.     Very  sweet  thing,  that,  in  the  way  of  dressei. 

what  may  its  name  be  ?  " 
,_^Vhat  nonsense  1     Thi^^eas  pretty  ?     Why,  ttlrô^  - 

wy  old  blue  Japanese  silk." 


êÈFojtà. 

•*Hoi»old?  *.* 

"  Oh  1  âges  and  âges,     i  got  it  last  sumnier. 
"  Ages  and  âges,  and  she  got  it  last  suinmcr ',    What  are 
FOU  going  to  wear  to  the  party,  Totty  ?  " 

"  Pink,"   says  Mrs.  Shcldon,  and  her   face  din  pies  and 
smiles,    and  she  clasps  two  rosy-ringed  han<ls  on  his  kncf 
and  looks  ui)  into  his  face  with  infantile  blue  cyts.     ••  Sal 
mon  pink,  that  lovely  delicate^hade,  and  my  pearl  iieciclace 
Are  you  going  to  dance  ?     You  don't  always,  you  know." 

"  I  know— my  unfortunate  chronic  laziness.     I  look  up 
Oft  dancing  as  so  much  idiStîcilly  violent  exertiori  for  no 
particular  resulL     But  I  intend  to  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  ' 
waluing  with  you.     We  always  had  each  other-s  step,  you 
remcinber,  Totty." 

Mtb.  Sheldorfs  heart  gives  one  great  sudden  beat.  Re 
membcr  !  Does  she  not  ?  What  Laura  Sheldoir  lîine  years 
ago  thicw  fiom  her  as  she  might  a  soiled  glove,  she  would 
give  a  yeai— yes,  full  half  her  life— to  win  back  now.  She 
removes  her  hands  suddenly,  and  there  is  silence.  Long- 
worth  puffs  serenely,  apparently  profoundly,  unconscious 
ïf  the  resuit  of  his  words.^  It  is  the  lady,  however,  who 
«peaks  first. 

"  But  ail  this  is  not  an  answer  to  iny  question,"  she  says. 
•*Is  Mademoiselle  Landelle  so  very,  very  pretty,  Larry  ?  " 

"The  prettieçt  girl  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,"  is  the  prompt 
and  uncompromising  answer.  '  ^ 

She  bites  her  lips.  For  little  Mrs.  Beckwith,  the  bride 
has  approached,\apd  enjoys  her  discomfiture. 

"  Is  she  dark  or  fair  ?  " 

"  Fair,  of  course.     Did  I  ever  admire  darlj.  women  ?  " 

"The  question  is,"  says  Mrs.  Beckwith,  pertly,  "  Jid  Mr 
Ix)ngworth  at  any  period  of  his  career  admire  any  womar 
<lark  or  fair,  even  for  one  day?^ 


"  Hâve  I  ever  made  any  secret  of^my  admiration  for  th» 
tadiei  of  thii  household  ?    As  far  as  my  friendship  fer  Beck 


•oS 


êÈPoMk. 


«rith  has  perinitted  me  to  show  it,  hâve  I  e/er  niadç  âO] 

secret  of  my  admiration  for " 

"Oh,  nonjense  I  Bu<  really  and  truly,  ever  so  long  igo, 
when  you  were  quite  a  young  man,  for  I  don't  pietend  to  call 
thirty-two  young,  did  you  ever  seriously  admire  any  woman, 
•Àir  (jr  dark — in  the  way  of  falling  in  love  with  her,  J  mean  ? 
fiecause  I  believe,  Mr.  Longworth,  you  belong  to  the  cold- 
blooded  kingdom,  and  couldn't  fall  in  love  if  you  tried." 

"  Half-past  seven,"  says  Lorigworth,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"  Miss  Hariott  has  come,  and  I  must  call  upon  her.  Totty, 
you  knew  me  when  I  was  quite  a  young  man — tell  Mrs. 
Beckwith  how  I  used  to  lose  my  head  for  blonde  beâutiè|[  in 
that  fossil  period.  'I  haven't  time.  Ladies,  I  go,  and  leave 
my  character  behind  me." 

Longworth  approaches  Frank,  who,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
stoop,  is  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  his  friend  PoUy. 
Polly  tums  from  him  at  sight  of  a  more  familiar  face. 

"  You'ïï  come  to  grief,  Larry  1  Npra  du  diable  I  Sacr-r- 
ré  bleu  !  You're  a  fool,.  Làrry  I  You're  a  fool  I  you're  a 
fool  !  " 

"  There  never  was  such  a  vituperative  old  virago,"  says 
Longworth,  lool^g  afiection£tely  at  Polly,  who  sits  with  her 
head  on  one  side,  and  her  black  eyes  upon  him. 

*'  Come  with  me  to  Miss  Hariotf  s,  Baby.  She's  used  up, 
I  dare  say,  after  her  dày's  ride  ;  still  I  want  to  see  her,  il 
jnly  for  a  moment." 

He  links  his  arm  in  Frank's,  and  they  go  up  the  street  to- 
^ether  undef  the  eyes  of  the  boarders. 

"  Lucky  man,  that  Longworth,"  says  Mr.  Beckwith  ;  "  one 
of  those  fellows  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  their  mouths." 

"  Don't  seem  to  see  it,"  retorts  Mr.   O'Sullivan.     "  He 
hasn't  converted  the  spoon  into  specie  yet,  at  laste.     The 
^haynix'vizXL  very  well,  and  pays  perhaps  ;  but  k  isa'^  ^a  for  — 
tune,  acd  never  will  be." 

"  Z  don't  mean  the  Phtnix.     I  mean  theie  Fret.ch  girb 


.ii    \  -  '•■■£ 


ê&FOME. 


109 


8are  to  naury  one  of  'em,  and  coue  Iniu  a  whole  pot  àt 
money  when  the  grandma  dies.     AwfiiUy  sweet  on  him,  the 

grandnia." 

"Isn't  it  a  thousand  pitiés  she  doesn't  take  him  henelt 
then,  and  hâve  done  with  it" 

"  A  raan  raay  not  many  his  grandmother,"  says  Mr.  Beck 
with  gravely,  "  but  he  may  marry  her  granddaughter.  Then 
he  can  hand  the  Phénix  over  to  you,  O' Sullivan,  and  fancy 
H  after-dinner  ail  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"  I  hâve  just  been  telling  Mr.  Longworth,  Hany,  that  I 
de  not  believe  he  ever  was  in  love  in  his  life,"  says  vivacioua 
Mra.  Beckwith,  "and  he  refers  me  to  Mrs.  Sheldon  for 
proof." 

"  And  what  says  Mrs.  Sheldon,  my  dear  ?  " 
"  Nothing — which  is  suspicious.     A  little  bird  whispered 
to  me  the  other  day  that  he  once  was  in  love  witli  Mistress 
Totty  herself.     I  begin  to  believe  it." 

"  And  we  always  return  to  out  first  love,"  says  Mr.  Beck- 
with.    "  And  smoldering  fiâmes  are  easily  rekindled." 

"But  the   hardest  things  on  earth  to  relight  are  dead. 
ashes,"  says  his  wife  under  her  breath. 

Mrs.  Sheldon  hears,  and  rises  suddenly  and  leaves  th<r 
group. 

"  Doesn't  it  strike  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  this 
discourse  is  the  laste  in  the  world  in  bad  taste  ?  "  suggesta 
Mr.  O' Sullivan.  "  Mrs.  Sheldon  heard  that  stage  aside  of 
yours  ma'am.  Suppose  we  let  Longworth  and  his  love 
afTairs  alone,  Beckwith.  He  lets  ours,  you  may  take  your 
oath." 

He  certainly  was  at  that  moment.  Still  smoking,  his  aria 
through  Frank's,  he  walks  slowly  along  the  quiet  streets  in 

the  gray  of  the  sumqier  evening.     The  young  factory  ladies, 

dressed  in  their  best,  are  saunter'ng  by,  each  on  the  arm  of 
her  sweetheart;  pianos  tinklelieie  and  tliere  through  the  sil' 
voy  dusk,  stars  of  Itght  bcgin  to  gleam  behiud  closcd  blinda 


■^.;. 


110 


BEFORE. 


\ 


The  trees  sUno,  green,  niotionless  sentinds     wafta  ol  injg 
nonette  greet  them,  the  bay  spreads  away  into  ihe  shiminer 
irg  far  off  Une  of  sky,  and  stars  pierce  the  liazy  blue.     It  ii< 
an  hour  that  bas  its  charm  for  Longworth,  and  in  which  hii 
ulent  faniUiar  takcs  possession  of  hini  ;  but  Frank  is  indincd 
lotalk.  ^ 

'  Whit  an  odd  fish  you  are,  Larry,"  he  is  saying,  in  an  in 
iured  tone.  "  Why  co*«ldn't  you  tell  me  that  night  in  New 
Vork,  that  thèse  young  ladies  were  with  you  ?  1  spoke  to 
you  about  them.     You  n»ust  hâve  kncfWn  who  I  nieant."      , 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  now,  thaf  s  a  good  fellow.    I  never  can> 
thoroughly  enjoya  dgar  and  talk,  and  this  is  capital.    Shut 
your  mouth  with  one  I 

"Youknowl  don't  snioke;  that  is  why  you  are  so  un- 

commonly  générons.     I  consider  it  a  beastly  habit— a  man 

',  making  a  funnel  of  himself.   There  I  was  hunting  New  York, 

jlik^  an  amateur  détective,  three  whole  blessed  days,'  and  ail 

1  the  tinie  those  girls  were  hère." 

"Baby,  let  me  donc.     Let  me  forget  there  is  a  wpman, 
young  or  old,  in  the  scheme  of  the  universe,  for  ave  minutes 
ifican." 

"  Yes,  that  is  so  likely,  and  you  going  hot-foot  to  visit  one. 
You  would  not  even  let  me  come  to  see  you  oflf  tbat  mom-  ' 
ing,    because   they  were  with  you.      You  may  think   this 
friendly  if  you  like,  but  I  don't" 

"  Frank,"  says  Longworth,  removing  his  dgar  and  looking 
darkly  at  him,  "if  you  don't  hold  your  tongue  l'il  throw, 
lomething  at  you."  ^  \     , 

trafak's  grumbling  subsides  ;  *e  i^  heard  for  a  moment  oi 
two  nnittering  about  dogs  in  the  manger,  and  the  beastly 
•slftshnessof  some  people  ;  but  this  dies  away,  and  i^ofound' 
«Qence  befitting  the  hour  and  the  editor's  humot  falls  uix)n 
-IhMtp^  They  are  some  twenty  minu^  iîi  «eàching  MiS"~ 
Hariôtt's  cottage,  where  lights  shine  cheerily,  and  whence 
merry  musi*.   cornes.    Miss  Haiiott  rises  from  her  piana 


l 


\ 


-v*.^ 


r 


9JSFOJf£>' 


III 


■^•t  40  too  tired  to  greet  «nd  welcome  the  tw^  ^fj^ 

"  It  is  good  to  Me  you  home  agaih,  Miw  Heiier,"  Lon. 
worth  says.  throwing  hiniself  into  a  big  chair,  a  génial  loS 
m  lu-  eyes  "Whenever,  during  your  absence,  I  felt  pà 
dcularly  dead-tited  and  despoxjdent,  wheri  subscribers  reh^d 
to  pay,  when  ail  tl^  world^ts  hoUow,  and  life  a  dreary 
mockery,  I  used  to  corne  hère  and  sit  in  this  chair,  and  hâve 
m  (,andace  and  talk  of  you.  I  used  to  fetch  yôur  lettcw 
hère  to  read.  I  don't  say  doing  this  was  altogether  satisfiM> 
toiy,  but  it  was  the  best  that  could  be  donc  under  the  d^ 
cumstances."  " 

Frl'  ?°°1  a"""''"  *  ''"^  °^  "'  "^'^  «^°"'"  ^rpo^  " 
Frank      "A  greater  humbug  than  Longworth  never  Mved 

Instead  of  spoonmg  hère  with  ^andace,  and  weeping  ovei 
your  letters,  he  was  in  Mrs.  Windsor^s  back  parlor  drinkinl 
tea.  I  neverlhought  it  of  you,  Larry  ;  but  you  are  turnina 
o«t  a  regular  tame  cat  Beckwith-though  a  fool  in  . 
gênerai  way-was  correct  in  his  remarks  at  dinner  to-day  bv 
Ge^e  I  If  a  feflow  dôesn't  marry,  and  give  half-a-dozen 
hos^es  tofertune  before  he^s  thirty,  he's  certain  tb  develop 
into  a  tanie  cat"  -• 

"Then  let  us  tnist  yo^will  act  up  to  those  noble  senti- 
ments. Baby.^and  présent  your  first  hostage  to  fortujie,  in  the 

ÎT^u  "T'r"  "^^  "'  """^  ^''    Though,  at  the  same 
urne,  the  rôle  pf  tame  càt  is  by  no  means  to  b^e  despised 
Oo  you  put  m  an  appearance  at  Mrs.  Windsor's  '  s.nall  and 
early    on  Thursday  night.  Miss  Hariott?" 
"I  hâve  a  card.     Yes,  I  think  m     Frank,  don't  forge, 

those  gloves— SIX  and  threequarters "  ' 

_"  Dark  browns  and  gTays.     Oh.  l'U  not  forget,  although  I 
gunk  .t  was  awfiiUy  unhanàsome  of  jrou,  Miw  Hario^-|ô^ 


keep  me  ,n  the  dark.     I  don't  so  mûch  miud  Longworth-: 
«s  hke  his  selfishness  ;  but  I  wouldn't  hâve  expected  it  0/ 
%fWi.     How  long  hâve  you  known  who  tliey  were  ?  " 


\ 


\ 


*-■    ■-■,;él 


^t 


IIS 


BEFORE. 


■Al 


'•  Do  you  remember  that  night  when  she  rea 
in  tlie  saloon  of  the  Hesperia,  but  said  sl»e  liopt 
us  yet  ?  li  flashed  upon  me,\at  that  moment.'^ 
"  By  Jove  I  what  it  ts  to^bè  plever.  But  ' 
wàa.always  made  of  wood— never|,had^j|gWesscd 
flash  upon  me  in  my  life,  giVe  you  v^^^-  LongWortb. 
says  (he  one  I  didn't  see  and  wanted  to  see  îs  a  gesa  of  the 
first  water.  In  fact,  as  he  raves  so  much  abôut  her  beauty, 
and  as  his  talent  for  domestic  fiction  is  so  well  known,  J 
begin  to  believe  she  is  pock-nàarked.     Did  you  see  her  ?  " 

♦'  I  had  a  glimpse  of  her  that  last  day,  in  saying  good-by, 
and  I  did  not  nptice  any  pock-marks,  It  is  as  well,  bow- 
eyer,  to  take  Larry's  enthusiasm  with  a  pinch  of  saW:  A 
poet  in  the  past  is  apt  to  be  rhapsodical  in  the  presen^" . 
^  "Don't  allude  to  the  poetry,  I  implore,"  says  Lôngworth 
^t  is  re^ly  one  of  the  few  vulnérable  places  in  his  armor, 
that  by-gone  volume  of  Shell  ey-^d-water.  Miss  Hariott  po». 
sesses  a  Copy,  and  holds  it  ovfcr  him  in  perpétuai  terrorem. 

"Miss  Hariott,"  says  Frank,  «'I  searched  every  book 
store  in  New  York  fdr  a  copy  of  Larr/s  poems— oh,  good 
lud,  poems  !— and  I  give  you  my  honor  I  couldn't  find  one 
Now,  you  bave  the  book,  I  believe.  Look  hère  l  -aU  ladiea 
like  diamonds— ru  give  yo|u  the  handsomest  diamond  ring 
in  Tiffan/s  for  that  book."' 


'  If  she  does,"  sa 
tp  bootjack  befure 
"I  managed  to 
Dexter — "  '  Fire  aS 


^th,  "  l'U  hâve  your  blood  with 
night.'.  ù^jl,       <*  '*^ 
ï  bis  noviM/'  pursues  young 
That  wksn'l  hard  to  get,  blés* 


you  I  The  publisher  issued  five  hundred  for  the  first  édition 
— thought  he  had  got  hold  of  a  New  York  Dumas  fils—\o\à 
me  so — and  he  has  four  hundred  and  seventy-five  on  hia 
•helves  to  this  day.  That  wag  seven  years  ago.  You  had 
^^'^^  ^"^^  't  oyer,  Miss  Hariott  j  no  oneUfill  evec^  nak*^ 


you  auch  an  offer  agaiii— the  handsomest  solitaire  in  Tifikny'i 
inr  T^ngworth's  poems 


'^siSj^Ê^iiiifi&iii: 


y 


BEPORR. 


IIJ 


^P 


-Thank  yoa.     m  thihk  of  it,"  res,>oi.d5  the  lady      'M' 

«•  a  pAy  th«  gifted  autijor  couldn't  hâve  sold  them  aU  at  tfce 

.     Mine  ^ce      Laurence,  tcll  .ne  how  you  like  our  two  youn» 

ladies  froiii  France?"  /       w 

-      "One,of  them  is  not  from  France.     Baning  the  sUght 
Jrawback  of  having  been  bom  in  Paris,  aûd  having  liad  a 
trench   father,    she   is,    to  ail    intents   and    purposes,  an 
Kngii^  girL     She  has  lived  in  Londoft  ail  her  Ufe." 
"And  the  other  in  Rouen.     She  tol^  me  that,  although 
.   «he  was  wonderfully  réticent  about  hersélf-     Think  of  the 
little  brown-eyed  pussy  sitting  there^so  demurely  day  aftei" 
'iay,  hstenmg  to  Frank  and  I  discoùrsing  Baymouth,  and 
never  droppmg  a  hint  that  she  was  going  there.  " 
I^ngworth  laughs  slightly. 

"She  is  a  young  person  who  dan  keep  her  own  j«crct  if 
»he  hâs  any  to  keep,  and  hold  her  pwn  with  the  stately 
grandmother.  I  don't  think  MUe.  Reine  and  Madame 
Wmdsor  mil  hit  it  oflF  well.  Mlle.  Marie  is  far  wiser  in  her 
génération  than  the  little  one." 

"I  can't  like  Mrs.  Windsor,"  says  Miss  Harioît,  impetu- 
ously  ;  "I  can't  forgive  her  for  being  so  flinty  to  that  poo, 
daughter  of  hers.  How  dare  she  leave  her  in  pbverty— be- 
cause  she  ran  away  with  the  man  she  loved?  I  suppoie 
poor  Mary  Windsor  did  die  poor  ?" 

"  Madame  Landelle  certainly  died  poor-^xtremely  poor 
fromjjrhat  I  can  learn.     Marie  is  communicative  j;noi.gh' 
Landelletought  French and music-mamma  was  alwajs ailing 
--who  ever  knew  an  American  matron  who  was  not  aTwayi 
«lingP-her  doctor's  bills  50  ran  away  with  poor  Landelle'i 
earnnigathat  they  were  perpetually  in  debt,  perpetually  re- 
«iving  notices  to  quit  from"  indignant  landlâdies.    I  "can 
tofcr,  too,  that  poor  marama  was  fretful  an^  fraciknis,  eter 
-M%  bewaiiing  the  luxury  of  the  past  and  the  mîé^  of  the  '"' 
I*Ment    I  think  that  unlucky,  Hippolyte  I^delle  must^avc 
»««tted  the  dismal  tryth  of  the  proverb  about  inairyi<.g  i» 


» 


A^^Hk^ 


■'^^^^m.^  j.  f 


^igfej 


-,  > 


T 


H 


•  M 


8EFORR. 


haste  and  repenting  at  leisure.  I  think  he  fully  expiated  hii 
sm  cf  running  away  with  an  heirtss.  But  she  is  dead  now, 
rest  her  soûl,  ami  t)n  ihe  whdle  Madame  Windsor  is  dis 
jK^sed  to  act  gcncroiisly  towards  her  granddaughters." 

"  li  she  dispose.!  to  act,  kJïidly?  "  inquired  Miss  Hanolt. 
jbrujnly. 

"  W'ell  you  know,  indiscriminate  kindness  ià  net  one  of 
the  weaknesses  of  Lcr  nature.  In  her  own  way,  and  if  thej 
«rill  Ict  her,  I  think  she  is."     '  ■    ' 

•  VVhat  do  you  raeàn  by  if  they  will  let  her  ?  " 

"  If  they  are  like  Uriah  Heep,  'unible,  if  they  humor  her, 
if  they  take  pains  to  please " 

"  If  they  criÀge,  if  they  fawn,  if  they  toady— bah  I  I  hav« 
oo  patience  with  the  woman,  nor  with  you  either,  Lany, 
«rhen  you  défend  her." 

"  Corne,  now,  Miss  Hariott,  dont  let  your  feelings  cany 
you  away.  She  is  kind.  Does  not  this  party  look  like 
it?" 

"  This  party  is  for  her  own  sake,  not  theirs.  '  I  an}  tbc  . 
greatest  lady  in  the  land  ;  it  is  due  to  me  that  my  grand'- 
daughters  are  received  into  the  very  best  cirdes  of  this 
manufacturing  New  England  town.  Having  received  theni, 
a  slight  shown  to  them  is  a  slight  shown  to  me.  I  do  not 
like  them— tliey  are  intruders  ;  but  I  am  Mrs  Windsor,  of  the 
Str/ie  Hoiise,  and  nobility  obliges.  Thprefore,  they  shall  be 
^eaented  to  awe-stricken  and  admiring  Baymouth  in  a  grand 
coup  de  théâtre  on  llnirsday  night.'  Don't  let  us  talk  aboul 
it  ;    1  havc  no  patience  with  the  woman,  I  repeat." 

"  So  I  perceive.     I  think  it  would  be  better  and  more  like 
ycu,   Miss    Hariott,    if  you  had.     She  is  a  profoundly  dis  \ 
appointed  woman— disappointed  in. her  ambition,4er  love,- 
tnd  htr  pride.     And  it  is  not  yéur  métier  to  be  hard  on  thf  ' 
absent ' 


"^rh.ink  you,  Larry,"  says  Miss  hariott,  tod  holdi  out  h«i 
hanll     "  You  ar«  a  fricnj.     Cume,  what  ihaU  I  pla^  fo 


l 


^«.^y^L. 


|-  t>v 


AfOBLESSE   OBUGh. 


115 


/OU?     Here  is  one  of  Chopin's  marvcls  in  two  dczcn  flat» 
and  no  end  of  double  sharp»_will  you  hâve  that?" 

rent  biscuits.  Longworth  is  "  tame  cat  "  enough  to  like  tea. 
ind  s.ps  the  cup  she  gives  him  with  relish.  They  fall  to  go^ 
^:p.ng  about  new  books,  until  Frank,  whom  literature  ren 
u  «rally  bores,  yawns  drearily,  and  brings  the  eye  of  S 
nostess  upon  hiih.  ' 

«  Take  that  child  home  and  put  hira  to  bed,"  she  says  to 
Longworth.     "We  might  hâve  known  it  was  dreadfuîy  4 
dj^eet  to  allow  a  boy  of  his  tender  a^  to  sfup  umiU 
quarterofeleven.     Good-night,  Franky  ;  good-night  Lai 
and  thank  you  for  everything."  -^  '  »  ""  nignt,  Larry, 

in  '^^eTht'Tthe'  ""'  "''l  '"""  '^""«  '""^  ^^^'  ^"  -'^- 
^R  to  bed  whisthng  "  My  Love  is  but  a  Lassie  yet  '  '     L 

n^V^r       ■   ^''"'"yj^^  ^-"-'  nor  the  «irl  w.th  the 
fJJdten  haïr,  visu  his  sound  slumbers  ail  night 


CHAPTER  IX 

NOBLKSSK   OBLIOB. 

HK  evening  cornes.  There  is  flutter  and  pleasapl 
tuu.ult  .n  niany  Baymouth  hcunes,  as  maids  and 
matrons^sons  and  fathers  array  themselves  for  MrB. 

^eet  and  jtarht,  scented  with  the  odor  ^  dewy^,.,  !J. 
A^er  çon«4erable  r;mi|«tion,  in  whid»  t||«  h*a  i^of*» 


'^«làj^ . 


-:». 


116 


NOS  Lf.  s  s  fi.    on  LIGE. 


the  young  ladies  and  taken  counsel  of  Longworth,  Aïi» 
Windsor  has  decided  that  it  shall  be  a  dancing  party.  Not 
an  absolute  baU— the  word  implies  too  much— but  something 
supposed  to  be  friendly  and  informai,  w.th  a  sit-down  sùppcr 
cards,  and  conversation  for  the  elders,  unlimited  dancing  and 
fliuation  for  the  young  ones.  She  had  thoiight  of  a  dinner- 
party  at  first,  but  heavy  dinner-parties  were  not  favorably 
regarded  in  Baymouth  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Windsor  did  open  her 
house,  she  honestly  wished  to  please  her^sts.  To  main- 
tain  her  own  dignity  was  of  course  always  Wfirst  essential  ; 
but  that  maintainéd,  why,  then,  eveiylywW  pïdst  go  home  de' 
lighted.  '.'H 

Longworth,  too,  who  knew  Baymouth  tastes,  pronounced 
m  favor  of  the  dance  ;  so  a  dance  it  was  to  be,  with  a  band 
»nd  a  supper  from  Boston. 

Of  ail  who  stood  befôre  their  inirrors  and  arrayed  them- 
solves  sumptuously,  not  one  young  beauty  of  them  was  in  a 
more  fevensh  flutter  than  Frank  Dexter.    An  irrésistible  and 
ndiculous  longing  to  see  hisgoddess  described  by  Longworth 
wasupon  him.  He  would  be  glad  to  meet  Mlle.  Reine  once 
more,  of  course,  and  see  those  deep,  dusk  cyes  light  into  sun- 
•hme  as  she  welcomed  him  ;  but  that  other,  that  unseen  sister 
— U  was  of  her  he  thought  as  he  dressed.     He  grew  hot  and 
angry  m  the  stniggle  with  buttons  and  collars,  and  cuffs,  and 
•tuds,  ar.d  neck-ties,  and  gloves,  belore  the  glass.     Never 
had  he  labored  so  hard,  never  had  he  been  so  disgusted  with 
Ihe  resuit.     Certainly  it  was  not  a  handsome  face  Frank  saw, 
and  the  génial  boyish  jollity  that  was  his  principal  attracUon 
was  sadly  marred  by  an  anxious  scowl   to-nighL     But  he 
finishes  at  last,  and,  flushed  and  heated,  goes  down  to  #ait 
for  Longworth.  ^^ 

W^iting  for  Longworth  is,  if  possible,  a  more  trying  ordeal 
^"  ^''^!"gv  J^"gworth_hM  gone  h^k  to  the  office  aô«= 


^ffinner  ihhis  customary  cold-blooded  and  uin^citable  manner 
renarking  casuaUy  that  he  may  be  late,  as  ù>»e  U  g  broDd 


r-i 


rorthy  Atfi, 
arty.     Not 

something 
wn  supper, 
ancing  and 

a  dinner- 
t  favorably 
d  open  her 

To  main. 

essential  ; 
•  home  de- 

ronounced 
ith  a  band 

^'ed  thein- 
n  was  in  a 
istible  and 
.ongworth 
eine  once 
L  into  sun- 
seen  sistei 
V  hot  and 
cuffs,  and 
i.     Never 
isted  with 
rank  saw, 
éittraction 
Buthe 
n  to  #ait 

tig  ordeal 
Ice  afta    ^ 
:  manner 
•  bioiul 


/NOBLESSE  OBLIGE.  uj 

«de  or  vitupération  to  be  poured  into  a  brother  éditer  vu 
next  moming  s  édition,  but  wUl  endeavor  for  Frank's  sake  to 
•laughterthe^enemyin  as  brief  aspaceaspossible.  Nin» 
M^T^r^^QK  m'  ''r  Longworth.  A  quarter  past.  and 
M«.  Totty  Sheldon,  dazzling  in  the  ^Imon  pink  and  pearl 
oecklace-an  old  gage  damour  of  Longworth's,  by  the  way 
-^er  large,  beautiful  arms,  and  plump  polished  shoulden^ 
■parklmg  m  the  gaslight,  sails  in. 

col^""""' ''""''    Doyouiike^ydress?    Are  yo« 

ImZ^^hî'  "/°'*"°**«^>^' yet  awhile-waiting  for  Longworth. 
Impossiblefor me togo without him, you know.  Your dress i. 
?v  °î  3°**y7y°"  ^«  l>ound  to  be  the  beauty  of  the  baH 
No  ho^e  of  that,  I  fear.  You  forget  Larr/s  description 
of  M,ss  Landelle.  Only  I  wonder  if  he  meant  it.  WelJ 
a»  revotr  for  the  présent."  ^ 

Jl  *^*ïr7^  ^""  "**  ^"^  ^^  ^««  ^^  to  the  cab 
wa^tingatthedoor.  Mamma  in  a  golden  brown  sUk  that  has  " 
»een  some  service,  foUows,  and  they  drive  oflF.  Frank  paces 
up  and  down  the  stoop,  growUng  inaudible  anathemas  upon 
Longworth  hngenng  over  his  imbecUe  newspaper  pL 
^aphs--for  no  other  reason,  Frank  is  convinced,  than  to  ex- 

ently  the  laggard  cornes,  the  red  tip  of  his  cigar  announcing 
bs  approach  afar  off,  with  his  usual  leisurely%pd  deliberate 
ti/.H-.  human  bemg  can  recaU  the  phenomenon  of  seeing 
the  editor  of  the  J^Aenùc  in  a  burry  " 

"hopeIhaven'tkeptyouwaiting,dearboy?' 

"But  you  hâve  kept  me  waiting,"  growls  Frank;  «per- 
haps  you  don't  happen  to  know  it  is  ten  minutes  of  L 

^e  a^ear^toTave  taken  a  great  deal  of  kiUing.  You  ^u.» 
hw^been  enjoyingyomrself  abusing  somebody,  or  you  ne, 
wwiUhav.tcnbUedantilthistinieofnighL" 


s^MÉ^fjrÀMi^.ii'^W-k-'  ^  ^s,i^  ï' 


T 


ii8  " 


/NOBLESSE   xjBLrCR. 


Longworth  does  not  wait  for  thèse  reproàche»- -he  nins  np 
to  his  room,  and  sets  about  his  toilet  with  celerity  and  dis 
patch. 

"Awful  nonséqse,"  he  says,  as  Dexter,  stiUrather  hufl^ 
foUows,  "obligii^  a  man,  because  you  ask  him  out  to  enjo) 
himself,  to  undergo  the  torture  of  putting  himself  inside  a 
asable-taU  coat,  and  nether  garments  first.  This  gray  suit 
is  new,  and  neat,  well-fitting,  and  comfortable  ;  but  it  woul<? 
be  a  deadly  sin  against  the  ordinances  of  society  to  go  in  it 
to  Mrs.  Windsor's  to-night.  I  am  a  wiser,  happier,  and  better 
man  in  it  than  I  am  in  the  régulation  white  tie  and  swaUow- 
taiL" 

But  when  the  wnite  tie  is  tied,  and  the  swallow-tail  on, 
Dexter  has  his  doubts  about  it.  Certainly  Longworth  l«ok9 
wel!,  as  most  tall,  fair  men  do,  in  full  evening  dress— no  de- 
tail  wanting,  even  to  the  tiny  bouquet  for  the  button-hole,  one 
tuberose  and  a  sprig  of  héliotrope. 

"He  isn't  half  a  bad-looking  fellow  when  he  likes,"  Frank 
thinks,  moodily.  "  I  suppose  that  is  why  the  women  ail  like 
him.  For  lots  of  women  like  him  and  always  hâve  ;  and  1 
suppose,  as  Beckwith  suggests,  he'U  go  in  for  Mrs.  Windsor*» 
heiress,  and  win  her  too." 

The  thought  is  depressing,  and  in  gloomy  silence  Frank 
sets  out  by  his  side  at  last  But  Longworth  is  inclined  to 
talk,  for  a  wonder,  and  does  talk,  although  Mr.  Dexter's  re- 
plies are  sulky  monosyllables.  A  sensé  of  strong  personal 
uijury  weighs  upon  this  young  gentleman— a  sensé  he  would 
hâve  found  it  difficult  to  explain,  as  if  Longworth's  undeni- 
able  good  looks  and  unexceptional  get-up  were  matters  of 
direct  peisonal  wrong  and  insuit. 

"You  seem  a  trifle  depressed  and  low-spirited,  to-night,  deai 

bojr,  don't  you?"  suggests  Mr.  Longworth,  cheerfuUy,  "as 

Jfjrou  had  a  jegret  sorrow  preying  nponyou.     Or  perbaj,. 

if»  bile— it  struck  me  you  were  looking  yellow  at  dinner' 

Ot,  perhapf  'vi%  a  prescntiment  of  coming  evil— the   Mfi 


.y\ 


w^^^Sj^d"\fc-ï'Si,  j  iut^ 


•  "Tf 


tfOêLASSE  OBLIGE. 


119 


of  thing  pcopic  hâve  m  books,  wheu  ilie  lady  ot  tfceir  love  ia 
gobg  to  elope  with  another  fellow.  If  it  is^a  preséntimcnt, 
my  Baby,  it  is  not  yet  too  late.  Yonder  is  Mrs.  Windsor's— 
«ay  but  the  word,  and  across  that  fatal  threshold  yôu  shaU 
never  pass." 

"BoshI-  returns  Mr.  Dexter,  with  suppressed  savageiy; 
'  for  a  nian  most  people  seem  to  think  sensible,  you  can  talk 
more  horrid  nonsense  than  any  fellow  alive.  I  suppose  1  may 
hâve  my  sUent  fits  too,  although  I  am  not  the  editor  of  a  twc 
penny  newspaper.  Now,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  let  us 
hâve  aiyr  more  of  your  chaff,  for  hère  we  are." 

Hère  they  were  certainly.  Every  window  aglow,  its  long 
gray  front  ail  alight,  many  carnages  in  a  line  before  the  gâte, 
peals  of  dance  music  coming  through  the  open  door,  the 
grim  Stone  House  may  wonder  if  "  I  be  I  "  fo-night.  They 
enter  a  little  room  where  other  men  are  assembled,  and  do  as 
thèse  men  are  doing— give  hair,  and  tie,  and  vest,  and  gloves 
one  last  adjustment,  give  mustaches  one  last  loving  twirl, 
then  pass  out  and  on  to  the  drawing-rôom,  where  Mrs.  Wlnd- 
«or  is  receiving  her  friends. 

"Courage,  my  Frank,"  says  Mr.  Longworth  ;  ««  we  wiU 
only  see  grandmamma  this  first  beat.  The  ball-room,  where 
the  Demoiselles  Landelle,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  are  tripping 
the  light  fantastic  toe,  is  farther  on.  In  poor  George  Wind- 
•or's  time  it  was  a  bilUard  room,  but  tables  and  balls  weni 
long  ago,  and  the  floor  is  waxed,  and  the  heir  of  ail  this  ii 
food  for  fishes.  So  the  glory  of  the  world  passes  away— 
corne  on." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  a  cheerful  spirit,  Longworth," 
»ays  Frank,  in  disgusL  "Wait  one  moment.  I  say,  who  is 
that  beside  her?"  \ 

''Yes,  my  Baby,  pause  and  look.     Many  inoons  may  wai 


^nd  wane^efore  yOT  bêlïoTd  anyWîng  eTse  bnp-lTaïf  sôToveïyr 
There  she  stands— queen,  lily,  and  rose  in  one— Mademoi 
■elle  Marie  UodeUe.' 


.-^\ 


l'i«Ul4^>UVX.t. 


«.6 


A 1. 


***> 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


In  a  large  chair  Mrs.  Windsor  is  seated^  beautifùlly  aiî6 
perfectly  dressed,  more  uplifted,  more  majestic,  more  awfaL 
it  seems  to  Frank,  than  ever  before.  A  little  group  sur 
roands  her,  »  tall  young  lady  stands  by  her  side.  At  Ihif 
young  l^dy  he  looks,  and  with  that  first  look  forgets  there'if 
another  human  being  in  the  house,  in  the  work.  He  stam 
and  gazes,  and  falls  there  and  then  abrujtly,  and  hopelcss/v 
and  helplessly,  and  irretrievably  in  love  on  the  spot. 

"Oh,  heavens  I  "  he  says  below  his  breath,"  what  a  perfect 
ly  dazzling  beauty  I  " 

-  "  Ah  I  "  says  Longworth.  "  I  told  you  so.  I  see  she  has 
knockedyouover;  but  restrain  yourself,  my  Baby.  Calm 
that  frenzied  fire.I  see  in  your  eye,  and  corne  and  be  intro- 
duced.  Be  brave  and  fear  not;  if  you  ask -her  prettily,  I 
dare  say  "she'll  even  dance  with  you." 

He  moves  on,  and  Frank  fqllovk  but  in  a  dazed  way 
He  irv^aguely  cpnscidus  that  the  tall  young  beauty  is  dress- 
ed  in  floating,  gauzy,  translucent  white,  ail  puffs  and  bunch- 
M,  and  traiUng  yards  behind  her.    He  sees,  as  in  a  dream, 
tiny  clusters  of  violets  ail  over  it,  a  large  cluster   on  hei 
breast,  a  bouquet  of  white  roses  and  violets  in  her  hand,  and  . 
still  another  knot  in  her  hair.     He  has  never  seen  such  hair  ; 
\\  falls  in  a  rippling  shower,  in  a  crinkling  sunburst  to  her 
8lim  waist,  and  yet  it  is  banded,  and  braided,  and  twisted  m 
a  wondrous  combination  on  her  head,  at  the  same  time. 
What  a  lot  of  it  «Oie  must  hâve,  Dexter  thinksf,  still  dazed  ;  and 
what  a  stunnihg  color  I  and  were  ever  zny  of  the  fair  dead 
wonien  of  long  ago,  for  whom  worlds  were  lost,  and  conquer 
ors  went  mad,  and  heroes  gave  up  honor  and  life,  one-half 
•o  lovely  ?.  '  - 

AU  i\^  time  they  are  slowly  approaching  «'  the  présence," 
âïid,  in  a  dreamy  way,  Frank  is  conscious  that  lx)ngworth  is 
Ulking. 


"^  "ïknewifwôuiabeàBôoreT,"ihàf  gentîëinan  is  remark. 
ing;  "but  not  such  a  floofL-r  as  this.     Shc's  uncommoiily 


NOBLESSE   OfiUGE. 


lai 


pretty  coeie  can  be  no  doubt— lodks  like  the  Blessed  Da 
rr^rel,  or  as  Andersen's  'Little  Sea-Maid'  must,  when  she 
got  rid  of  har  fish-tail  and  danced  before  the  prince.  StilU 
allowing  for  aU  that,  your  attack  is  awfuUy  sudden.  Try  and 
get  rid  of  that  sleep-walking  look,  Baby,  or,  when  you  are 
presented.  Miss  Landelle  may  be  pardoned  for  tiiinking  I 
Hâve  in  charge  an  able-bodied  young  lunatic." 

Frank  is  conscious  that  his  admiration  is  perhaps  a  trifle 
too  patent,  and  pulls  his  wits  together  by  ajj  eflfort  They 
are  in"  the  présence  "  now,  and  Mrs.  Windsor  has  always  had 
Ae  refreshing  effect  of  an  icedshower-bath  upon  Mr.  Dextet's 
nerves.  She  pauses  in  her  conversation,  and  theold  pleased 
and  softened  light  cornes  into  her  cold,  turquoise-blue  eyes. 

"You  are  latc,"  she  says,  graciously;  "I  hâve  bcen 
watching  for  you.     That  tiresome  office,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Mr.  Longworth  apologizes.  Yes,  it  is  the  office.  He 
bowi  to  Mlle.  Marie,  who  greets  him  with  a  bewitching  smile, 
and  draws  forward  Frank. 

"You  remember  my  young  kinsman,  Frank  Dexter,  Mr& 
Windsor?  He  is  visiting  Baymouth,  and  presuming  upon 
your  old  friendship  for  him,  I  hâve  taken  the  liberty  of  bring- 
bg  him  to-night." 

Mrs;  Windsor's  welcome  is  dignified  cordiality  itself.  Yes, 
ihe  remembers  Mr.  Frank  very  well.  Any  friend  Mr.  Long- 
worth may  bring  is  welcome  for  Mr.  Longworth's  sake,  but 
Mr.  Frank  is  welcome  for  his  own.  Then  she  turns  to  the 
brilliant  young  beauty  at  her  elbow  and  says  :  "  My  grand- 
daughter,  Miss  Landelle,  Mr.  Dexter." 

"  Mr.  Dexter  and  I  are  very  old  acquaintances,  grand- 
mamma,"  sayâ  Miss  Landelle,  smiling  ;  "or  at  least  we  came 
near  being.     We  crossed  in  the  sanie  steamer." 

"Indeed." 
^' Aaë-he  and  Reine  know  each  other  hke  otd  fiienc&r=T=" 


kept  my  berth  ail  the  way,  and  knew  nobody.     She  will  \, 
*ety  pleased  to  meet  you  again,  Mr.  Dexter.' 


t9È 


ArOJtLBSS£  OBLIGE. 


Frank   murmurs   somethitg— the   pleasure   is  his— aw- 
hopes  Mademoiselle  Reine  is  quite  well— um—trusls  Mis, 
Landellt  has  quite  got  over  her  mal-de-mer.     He  is  no- 
usually  at  a  loss  in  young  ladies»  society  ;  his  words  gênera)) 
flow  freely  and  fiuently  enough,  but  he  is  so  visibly  embar 
rassed  stammering  out  this  that  Longworth  conipassionateh 
comes  to  the  rescue. 

"Where  is  Mademoiselle  Reine?  in  t)ie  ball-room 
dancmg,  I  suppose.  You  hâve  not  forgotten,  J  .,o,.e,  Misi 
LandeUe,  that  you  yesterday  promised  me  the  first  waltz?" 

"  Mr.  tongworth,  I  wonder  you  hâve  the  audacity  to  soealc 
of  it     The  first  waltz,  sir,  is  over."  ^ 

"And  I  corne*  late.  Ah  !  unfortunate  that  ,1  am,  tied  to 
the  tread-noill  of  business  and  unable  to  break  away.  But 
«urely  there  is  a  second— is  not  that  a  waltz  they  are  begin- 
mng  now.     Pardon  the  past,  and  give  me  the  second." 

"Shall  I,  grandmamma?  "  she  says,  smiling.  ««  Can  you 
spare  me  ?  " 

"Certainly,  child.  I  hâve  no  intention  of  detaining  you 
hère  ail  evening.    Go  and  waltz,  by  ail  means." 

"Corne  on,  Frank,"  savs  Longworth,  over  Ms  shoulder, 
as  he  bears  off  his  radiant  vision,  "and  say  how  do  you  do 
to  Mademoiselle  Reine." 

Frank  foUows.  Up  to  the  présent,  Longworth  has"  rathei 
been  one  of  his  ideals— up  to  to-night  he  nas  been  more  oi 
less  "wrapped  in  the  sweet  and  sudden  passioii  of  youtb 
toward  greatness  in  its  eldeis;"  But  at  this  moment  deadlj 
émotions  of  rage,  hatred,  and  revenge  are  stirring  in  his 
bosom.  Yes,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it— it  is  patent  to  the 
dullest  observer,  Longworth  will  win  and  wear  this  daughter 
of  the  gods,  this  queen  rose  of  girlhood,  this  one  of  ail  the 
women  of  earth,  h<î,  Frank  feels,  that  Fate' has  created  foi 
him. 


**»^™  tJî^  ball-fôom,  fTwdëd  with  gis-light,  filied  with 
"Wic,  brilJuiut  witli  t^eauteouc  ladies,  thèse  dark  amd  dtrefii) 


NOBLESSE   OBUGR. 


IS3 


«Uibgt  pasa  Mr.  Dexter  lias  faUen  in  love,  suddenly  it 
may  be,  but  deuperately,  and  gloom,  and  jealousy,  and  despaù 
— Love's.pleasant  handmaidens— are  gnawing  alieady  at  hii 
ritals.  At  the  same  time  he  is  only  three-and-twenty,  is  in  a 
•tate  of  perfectly  splendid  vitality,  is  a  tolerable  dancer  and 
immoderately  fond  of  dancing,  and  the  light  retums  to  his  eye, 
a  thrill  to  his  puise,  and  he  looks  about  him  for  a  partner. 

"  Monsieur  Frank  I  "  says  a  voice.  "  Oh,  it  is— Monsieur 
Frank?" 

He  tums  and  sees  a  fairy  in  rose  silk,  rose  and  black,  an 
artistic  conabination,  roses  in  her  darkhair,  roses  in  her  hand, 
a  perfume  of  roses  ail  about  her,  and  with  eyes  like  brown 
diamonds. 

"  Mademoiselle  Reine." 

She  gives  him  her  hand  and  smilesup  in  his  eyes.     He  hai 
thought  often  before— he  thinks  it  again  now— what  a  beauti 
ful^  sunny  smile  she  has  I 

"Hâve  you  seen  Marie  and  been  introduced?  But  ol 
course  you  hâve.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  night  on  the  ship 
Uiat  we  would  meet  again  ?  Mees  Hariott  understood,  she 
tells  me,  but  you  did' not" 

"  You  were  terribly  silent  and  mysterious,  mademoiseUe. 
and  I  never  was  a  good  one  at  mysteries.  Are  you  engaged 
for  this  walLz^  Mademoiselle  Reine  ?" 

"  Monsieur,  I  never  #altz— it  is  againstmy  convictions  ;  but 
the  next  is  a  qiiàdrille,  and  I  kept  it  for.  you— I  knew  you 
vere  coming— I  knew  you  would  ask  me.  Among  ail  thèse 
strangers,  not  one  of  whom  except  Mees  Hariott  and  M. 
Longworth  I  hâve  ever  seen  before,  you  seem  altogether  lik< 
an  old  ftiend." 

"Thank  you,  mademoiselle,"  he  responds,  with  émotion, 
[n  his  présent  blighted  state  it  is  something  to  hear  wordi 
Jke  thèse  ftjm  the  Hp»  of  Her  sister.     Ah  !  if  She  would  bul^ 
•peak  them.     "  I  ask  nothing  better  of  fate  than  being  mt 
wWe  life  long  your  friend,"  he  say»  aloud. 


.ui!i!udll..s6&iM. 


>'-ï 


134 


*roSL£SSB  OBUGR. 


pn^  He  does  hot  see  it  ;  his  are  following  Longwtîrth  an<î 
a  certair  gauzy  figure  ^hat  seen»  to  float  in  a  white  cloud. 
gjTating  round  an*  round  '^ 

"  H°^  t>«a"tiful  your  sister  is,';,he  is  on  the  point  of  «y 
2  b«t  he  bites  his  lips  and  sf^s.  "  Your  sister  does  not  ri 
•emble  you  at  aU,  •  is  what  he-^çs  say. 

«Oh,  no;  she  is  a  thoùs|M  times  prettier.  How  ^H» 
AfonsieurLongworthwaltze.;aie  so  seldora  meets  with  « 
gentleman  who  can  waltz  real^  jirell." 

î.  li^T^'^  ''  *  ^""^  of  Admirable  Crichton,  I  find-what 

for  ynth  every  pr^se  of  his  rival  the  iron  goes  de^  and- 
deeperintohissoul.     «i  présume  he  and  Mlle.  Zi.  ^e 
inends  for  hfe  ake;^dy  ?" 

"I  don't  knô^hat  you  m«an  by  friends  for  life,"  says 
R«ne  ;  .th^  are  fi-iendly  enough  for  two  people*^who  hâve 
only  known  each  other  one  short  week." 

"  But  there  are  some  friendships,  that  do  not  require  tinie 
Dut  spnng  up  full-grown  in  an  houi- 1  " 

"Really  1»  thinks  MUe.  Reine,  '^this  is  very  odd.     Has 
Monsieur  Frank  been  dining  late,  I  wonder  ?  " 

They  join  the  dancers  as  she  thinks  it.     As  a  dancer  Frank 
does  not  shme  ;  even  as  a  dancer'of  square  dances,  his  feel 
are  m  the  way,  and  so  is  his  partner-s  train.     Mlle.  Reine  of 
course  floats  about  like  a  Frenchwoman,  and  prevents  hira 
frora  upsetting  himself  and  her.     Longworth  meandering  by. 
st.ll  with  the  beauty  of  the  night,  nods  encouragingly  in  pass 
2  -d  ^.  laughs.     The  laugh  is  at  his  a.kLd'p  Jge 
Mr  Dexter  feels,  and  is  the  last  drop  of  bitterness  in  his  al 
ready  bnmmmg  cup.     Mrs.  Sheldon,  in  the  next  set,  goes 
by.  and  darts  an  angry  glance  at  his  rosesilk  partner-the 
.ose-pmk  and  salmon-pink  are  swearing  at  each  other  hoiri  - 
^^erMenaturaUyhavingthebestofit     It  i»  évident  sBÏ" 
•«1  rr*nk  can  sympathize  on  other  grounds,  for  the  loo» 


yx 


Haa 


NOBLESSE   OBLIGE. 


\2\ 


itecMtB  aftei  Miss  LandeUe  is  almost  as  gloouiy  as  Frank'. 

hri!!?r  ^'tr,,"^  ^"^  "'«'''*  "^^  *°  "'^«•'^  «^'^<^»  with^en, 
bngh   with  .Uummation,  are  danced  away.     Outsidc,  und« 

Uie  stars  and  the  trees,  beyond  îheiron  railing.  ^  of 

factory  hands  linger,  and  look,  and  li,ten;  but  as  ™idSg^ 

approaches  they  Ait  away,  and  solhude  wi;ps  the  d  Jk^Ï 

^es  'a^d  Mi     T""'  ''  ^  ^""'  ^"^'  ^°^  ^-  S^^'d^ 
jees,  and  Miss  Hanott  sees,  and  Mrs.  Windsor,  slow  to  sec 

bu  seemg  at  last,  that  Mr.  Longworth  is  devoting  himself  t^ 
MUe.  Mane  as  no  one  remembers  ever  to  haye  seen  him.de- 
vote  himself  to  any  young  lady  before.  Yes,  Mrs.  Sheldon 
rémembere  once-so  long  ago  it  seems-when  he  looked 
^  apon,  and  hstened  to  her.  as  he  is  looking  and  li^tenine  to- 
'.nignt.  /"  ° 

"Is  he  falling  in  loye?"  Miss  Hariott  wondprs  as  she 
watches.     "Well-whynot?    She  is  wonderfuUy  pretty.  1 

s^iTet"  whVLr-  "'  "^^''  ^"'  '''  '"-''  ^-^«  -^ 

There  seemed  no  "  why  not  I  "  -  Only  I  wish  it  were  the 
other  one,"  adds  M.ss  Hariott,  inconsequently,  as'  Reine 
^^mes  up  to  her,  "she  is  dearer  and  sweeter,  ^d  bettér  by 

But  Miss  Hariott  has  no  reason  for  judging  thus^'andso 
has  to  confess.  Of  the  elder  sister  she  knows  nothing,  ex- 
cep;  that  beauty  so  rare  and  great  rather  préjudices  he  un- 
favorably  than  otherwise.  ci  un     . 

.  "^^l''''^^^^'^^^  to  be  anything  but  silly.  and  shallow. 
and  selfish  and  vam,"  so  illogically  and  rather  uncharitably 
rea..«ned  th.s  .mpulsire  lady.     "  Men  fancy  a  bcautiful  soJ 

^^  ^!;!r  ^*  -en,  heisr^toW  ffi^gold^  ann- 
once before  supper  Reine  keeps  the  proœife  msde  « 


-„i 


y 


<a6 


NOBL£.SSE   OJtlJGE. 


'    *hi,.bca,d.  and  «ng.  fpr  Miss  Hariott    But  as  the  rith.  foD 
^Ivery  contralto  fills  the  long  dmwirig-room,  otl.ers  flc^kla 

u  .w    7         ^  '^^^»*'  ^''""g'  s weet  voice. 
My  dear,"  she  says  in  her  aniazeraent;  «  who  would  hàv« 

•  Jecm,d  you  couldsing  like  this  ?  Of  course  Iknew  frt™ 
rour  fade  you  could  sing.  but  who  was  tHe  l\„e  wVZ 
caged  a  n.ght.ngale  ?     A  finer  contralto  I  never  he^I" 

The  g.r  glanced  up,  a  flash  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes. 

»h.„       \k         r^  '  "  •'  '^y  °'^*  gift-more  precious  to  me 
Uun  «.ythmg  else  m  the  worid.     Aunt  Denise'  had  the  ve" 
best  Tnasters  for  me.  and  I  studied  hard.     Not  for  drawin^ 
.    -'^.Perfon,^ces  like  this,  you  understand.  but-^r^fe 

"Thèstaf^el" 

.Zl^iy^fn""'  ^k"^™  of  myiife.  the  operatic  or  lyric 

T;    Z  *"  '''"'  ''  ^'  *"  ""^-f°^  ^he  présent." 

♦'For  the  présent?"  ■ 

h!^o1'7^'  Z"""':-     ^"  ^^^^  **'••  I^ong-rth-at  Miss 

h"  r  '  ?    ^'■''^'''  '■  ^  ^°'  "^'^  benefitthatswift.  dark 

Hash  gleams  m  iier  eyes. 

;    "For  the  présent.    One  day  or  other  I  shall  realize  my 
^lrea.ns  and  face  the  world  for^^myseif,  and  win  n,y  o^Z' 

•  th,nk  ther.  can  l.e  nothing  in  the  world  so  s  Jeet  as  The 
h  ead  one  w  .,Ls  for  and  wins.     Hère  is  something  you  ^, 
uke  ;  sfiall  I  sing  it  ?•■•  6  /""  wiw 

tlf  ri  t  'r'"  ""  '^^^'•^  ^^•^"-'  -'-  the  Power  of 
beautv.  fh  *  lovehness  .>f  the  elder  sister  is  forgotieV  for  the 
nme  even  by  Frank  Dexter.  in  listening  to  the'ril  J^^i^! 
•weetness  of  the  little  dark  gir!  who  sin.^s  * 


Madame  \Vu.dsor,  matchless  in  her  easy  ^jrace  a,  kçnt^^ 


NoLLLS^ih    OHUUE. 


127 


•e*^  and  «  light   slowly  dawos  upon  he. -a  lij.t  'hat    ,» 
Pleasant  ami  .dtogether  new.     Carence  Long^rH*  has  r. 

cold  and  rcpellant  grandmother  that  face  worked  ite  ,ra» 
Her  n^anners  are  what  a  young  girl's  «anners  should  bel 

ake     she  s  cold.  she  .s  proud.  she  is  repellant.  she  takes  no 
pam,  to  plcase.     If  young  Dexter.  who  will  be  ver,  rich  bv 

lïsXr;::  -^  ^-^^  ^^  ^^  -^  «-«^  ^^  ^-  ca. 

"And  if  I  tell  her  to  marry  him,  of  course  sfib  will  •  he. 
inchnauon  need  hâve  nothing  to  do  with  the  mIttT    eve"  . 
supPOMng  a  possible  lover  in  the  past     And  a  girl  as  h^d  ' 
«.me  a.  hat  .s  not  hkely  to  hâve  reached  the  âge  of  tS 
mthou    lovers.     Still.  having  been  brought  up  on  S 
pnncjples-convenient   things   French,  principles-she  ^i, 

told,  and  make  no  demur.     Yes,  I  am  sincerely  glad  she  is 
pretty  and  pleases  Laurence."  ^ 

They  break  up  early;  by  threc  o'clock  the  last  guest  i. 
8one  It  has  been  a  very  bright  and  charming  UtUe  rSon 
Whatever  Mrs.  Windsor  does  she  does  well  She  h!^3 
scned  her  granddaugnters  to  Baymouth  society  in  a  m".'" 
«lut  reiiects  credu  upon  her  and  then,.  Miss  Hariott  k,s^ 
Reine  as  they  part.  W: 

"  Good-by.  Little  Queen,"  she  says.      "  Corae  and  see 


mït^^U  '"'^  ^'^"^^^'f^  8^  ^'  they  camef  together.     I ong- 
-TiTth  ,s  :n  e,ç.,ient  spirits  still.  and  a  clister  of  violeui  hl 


^i)^i''!i,fk/i^^,ti^,-<'r'''.-^  t;,^'*- --  !■*-- 'i^-" 


<. 


V, 


f  f     J;^:»;»'».^  ■>%  ''",:::";V,^,  ;^.,.,J,;-.^;W.,' ;J-iLi;u;j^i!HJ^r?!SH 


ta8 


ATOfi/ESSE   OBLIGE. 


token  the  place  of  the  tuberose  in  his  button-hole^  vioMll  > 
ttiat  an  hour  agq  nestled  in  Marie  Landelle's  gUstenips  ï»«r. 

"What  thinkest  thou,  oh,  silent  Baby,"  he  says,  "of  the 
prl  with  the  angel's  smile,  and  theangel's  face,  and  the  head 
for  Greuze  ?  Doth  yonder  moon,  most  gloomy  youfh,  shine 
on  anything  else  one-half  so  lovely  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Windsor-s  chainpagne  was  heady,  but  you  needn't 
hâve  taken  quite  so  much  of  it/'  is  Frank's  cold  and  scom. 
nilretom 

"  Cynic  1  And  the  imputation  is  unjust,  for  it  is  the 
intoxication  of  peerless  beauty  and  grâce,  not/the  vintage  of 
la  veuve  Cliquât,  that  has  tumed  my  brâin.'  Tell  me,  niy 
B«by,  what  you  think  of  her,  and  don't  be  sardonic.  Ii 
pains  me  to  hear  a  little  thing  like  you  talk  in  that  grown-up 
way."  *^ 

"  You're  a  fool,  Longworth  I  "  says  Frank,  and  wrenche» 
his  arm  free.  "And  as  she  hasn't  accepted  you  yet— foi  I 
suppose  even  your  cheekiness  wasn't  eqiial  to  proposing 
to-night— I  wouldn't  be  quite  so  cock-a-hoop  abçut  it,  if  I 
were  you." 

Longworth  only  laughs.  He  can  afford  to  laugh,  Dcxtei 
thinks,  bitterly. 

"  Good-night,  Bàby,"  he  says,  in  a  friendly  voice.  «  Try 
tnd  get  rid  of  that  pain  in  your  temper  before  niorning." 

Frank's  response  is  sullen  and  brief.     He  goes  up  to  his 
noom  and  tosses  for  hours  on  his  bed  with  the  serene  pink 
(Uwn  smUing  in  upon  him,  and  the  songs  of  a  hundred  little  ' 
bjnds  ttounding  in  tiie  trees. 

"  I  knew  I  would  faU  in  love  with  her,"  he  thinks  with  i  , 
groan  ;  "but  if  I  had  known  Longworth  was  to  hâve  her  I  \ 
would  never  hâve  set  foot  in  that  house     I  made  a  joke  i 
it,  bj  Geoif  e,  but  it  will  be  no  joking  miutcr  to  aie  aU  Ikfl  -^ 
jctt  of  my  Ufc." 


;^\4^;i.i;' ,;..  «j... 


-v        V^     ikà.':L. 


-» 


CHAFTBR 


|T  B  aie  nuddle  of  the  «ft.n.ooa    Mi.  tUA,,.  fc 

pale,  «.."eArr^/^t.t''  """  *"  '^-  '  •»«• 
li'tle  gardon  aJ^uJi  *'  T'"-  '"'™  *=  ^ick  of  tkt 

-..^  «d  a^,^;,  .^'^..'îr ;ntr  ■""'  -^'^ 

My  dear  mad^oiselle '» 

"  r^«  «„    •:!.  «ways.     i  shall  call  vou  thaf  " 

Go  on  with  your  work,  madame  »  savs  R.în    V       • 

mto  a  rustic  chair.  "  and  pleasc  don^  flX      c"'    7''"« 

•nddaylightnevergowell  together     Whlt  .  ^°"''^'""'="" 

-what  a  pretty  little  house  thîis."  '  ^''"^  «"'^*^" 

"  Thinking  what  f^* 


£ 


mmm^mifpifm'imii 


miHiiffiiilTriiniiwi 


lio 


AFTBA. 


might  be  pnm^taxcy"  she  answers,  snippuig  awaj  {ndntil 
ously,  "  but  something  pleasant  ail  the  saine." 

She  has  been  thinking  of  her  friend,  Mr.  Longwoith,  and 
Mrs.  Windsor's  second  granddaughter,  after  the  fasbion  of 
match-making  women,  but  seniething  in  the  pjde,  seriou 
look  of  the  young  lady's  face  makes  er  realize  that  the  a» 
•ociation  of  ideas  might  not  be  agreeable. 

Miss  Hariott's  snipping  and  clipping.  goes  on,  mademoi* 
■elle  Bits  and  looks  at  her,  her  lut  in  her  lap,  with  tind, 
MMPber  eyes. 

**  Little  Queen,"  Miss  Hariott  says,  suddenly  pausing  ia 
her  work,  "  how  pale  you  are,  how  «reary  you  iook,  ^^lat 
ûit?"  , 

•*  Am  I  pale  ?  But  that  is  nothing.  I  never  hâve  color. 
And  I  suppose  I  am  tired  after  last  night  I  am  not  used  to 
diasipation  and  late  hours." 

"Three  o'clock  is  not  so  very  late."''  ' 

"  It  is  for  me.  I  bave  been  brougM  up  like  a  nun.  Ex 
ccpt  when  Aunt  Denise  took  me  two  or  three  tioies  to  Eng- 
land,  to  visit  papa,  I  hardly  ever  spent  an  evening  out.  At 
home,  my  music  and  my  other  studies,  ^ittle  birthday  fStes, 
and  trips  away  with  my  aunt,  fiUed  ail  the  hours.  So  I  sup- 
pose very  mild  dissipation  like  that  of  last  night  tells." 

"  How  is  your  sister  to-day  ?     Does  she  bear  it  better  ?  " 

"  Mucli  better  ;  but  Marie  is  used  to  it.  She  knew  niany 
people,  very  great  people  too,  in  London,"  Reine  sayt, 
with  a  touch  of  sistcrly  pride,  "and  went  out  a  great  deal 
Marie  niakes  friends,  go  where  she  will." 

"With  that  lovely  face  of  hers,  te  make  friends  must  in 
Jeed  be  easy." 

"  You  think  her  lovely,  madame  ? 

"  Can  there  be  any  two  opinions  on  that  fubject,  irj 
iear?  ^^ygk  it  is^»  most  beautifiti  face  f  evtr  g«irt)at  vt=^ 


a  franie." 
Mademoifielle  sinile*,  and  her  dark  ryes,  not  as  brillian 


iwaj  IndMtil 

tngworth,  and 
te  fashioa  of 
P9le,  seriou 
e  that  the  a» 

on,  mademoi- 
?,  with  dred, 

ly  pansingiB 
look.    What 

'S  hâve  color. 
n  not  used  to 


a  nun.  Ex 
ioies  to  £ng- 
ling  out.  At 
irthday  Rtea, 
s.     So  I  sup- 

tells." 

r  it  better  ?  " 
;  knew  inany 

Reine  sayb, 
i  great  deaL 

:nds  mnst  in 


nibject,  n^} 
r  saw  ont  of 


AFTf.k. 


«i» 


t  as  brilliare 


«.ter.  °'"=  «•'""«.on  d.e  fcds  fo,  .^j,  dj„ 

ro»  o„gh,  u,  be  ail  b/ltdft  ,h     "  ""'■'"••  •"»"»??/ 

"-«ist  in  b.i„g  ail  bîZt  °'  ''^P'"'"'^^'  <"<«»  «>« 

*«  r»  «.  rigï,    .«fe  t  r'TaL"  ;"'  """  -'  '■°"'- 

*nig.  -^    ""«lenioiseUe,  with  a   speaking 

«fc'"  ...an,  .  «„.ible  man  .  jw  °'  «™""«*    H.  i,  . 
"JsU.„te  g„..„.^  «.rhe'CT-    "  *~  ""«•''• 
,;  Ho»  .,he  élever?    Wha.  d^  fc.  do  ?  •• 
Oh  I  mnumerable  ihines.     B.  i,         • 
""■JHario.,,  ^a  .  r7p°!Li  '  'r  7.""  "^"^  "  ">' 
■ovel    And  toth  ha»l,.     t      T^''     •"=  •»•  written  a 
^«^  «os.  eCe«  .X «t  r  ^'""'  "^  *-    H 


■■Ml 


131 


AFTER. 


ne  is.  and  will  continue  to  be,  one  }f  the  risiug  nien  o(  tha 
■ge." 

"  A  triun:phant  knight  of  the  goose-quill,  in  short,  in  tL« 
bloodless  realins  of  pen  and  ink,  without  fea:  and  «itl'Oill 
reproach  I  ' 

"  Mademoiselle  Reine,  why  do  you  dislike  Mr.  I^ng 
worth?" 

"Mees  Hariot  why  do  you  like  l.un  ?  N  jls  of  thèse 
tfiings  are  any  reason  why.  I  think  he  is  a  meddler  and  a 
busybody — I  think  he  is  consulted  by  people  old  enough  le 
know  their  own  minds,  ai;d  I  think  he  impertinently  sits  and 
gives  advice  with  a.Jove-liVe  loftiness  from  which  theref  ia 
no  appeal.  I  hâve  read  Dickens,  madame,  and  I  think  youi 
learned  and  literary  friend  has  molded  himself  upon  Mon- 
sieur Fecksnifil  Can  you  tell  why  Madame  Windsor  thinks 
him  first  and  best  of  ail  the  men  in  the  worîd  ?  " 

Miss  Hariott  suspends  work  and  looks  at  her.  Some  one 
else  stands  still  and  looks,  and  listens  too,  an  auditor  unseen 
and  unbargained  for.  It  is  Longworth.  Finding'the  garden- 
gate  ajar  as  R^ine  left  it,  he  enters  and  cornes  close  upon 
theiii,  unseen  and  unheard.  If  ever  the  temptation  to  pla; 
eavesdropper  was  strong  enough  to  excuse  the  deed,  it  ia 
surely  strong  enough  hère.  "  Let  mç  see  myself  as  othèra 
ace  me  for  once,"  he  thinks,  and  coolly  stands  stiU  and  waita 
for  Miss  Hariotf  s  reply. 

"  Why  ?  "  crieS  Reine  Landell6  ;  *'  tell  me,  if  you  can,  why 
ahe,  so  haughty,  so  scornful,  so4niperious,  should  bow  to  hit 
fiats  as  though  he-were  a  god  ?" 

**AhI  that  is  it,"  Miss  Hariott  says  to  herself.     She  hai 
ceased  work  altogçther  and  stands  listening  to  this  sudden 
outbreak  in  amaze.     "  My  dear  child,  do  you  not  know  ? 
Hâve  you  never  heard  the  name  of  George  Win  dsor  ?  " 
'-    **  Oïten.     He  wâs  inâinmâVbirolhw^  ânô  wm  ^rownei^^^^^  f^ 
viih  he  had  not  been,  with  ail  my  heart." 

*Why?» 

4. 


9 


APTItR. 


Buî  wh*t  of 


•  flccau.e  then  we  would  never  be  hère 

"  Longworth  is  verv  like  hJm      tt  :        i  , 

bhnc,  bu,  i.  i,  reallTverv  s  rikin.     \  Jî  "  ?"""  "«» 
«*e  Mrs.  WndsortTL    f     *•     '*"<"*»  her  dead  sotf, 

must  pity  her."  '  ^°*^  reason  you 

"  I  do  not  know  that  T  an     w»,„~  u 
daughter  was  left.     Does  fno,?!  T  "^  *"''"  ■■" 

—  UWe^Q„ee„,if„eo„l,,„„ka,.herigh.a„d  <,„„g  „ 

«yself.     Do  ,„„  ^^^lu^lTZ^lTlt:"^ 
corne?     You  know  beffpr      v      ,  '"°*°'^  ^^^^  asked  us  to 

mother-coM  lovLss  un.»  T^,     ^"^  "^'^^  ^''^  "^«  ^«  "'^ 
seives  UDon  her      n  î  ''""'  ""^''^^^  '  ^«  ^^ced  o„r. 

n^ea:;  r:etrus  a?Nr  voTaid"  ^'r  T  "  ^°  '  ^^^ 

■hame  and  fenominv     qL      ^  ï     ''"'^  "'  back-back  in 
righttothisftrar»     w>t    ^^^^^^"'"'^"dgaveourbirth. 

te.,  from  her  S  '  And'he"'  hT  ^'"^^  '"  ^"^^-«»^ 
-:  great,  as  yo^Iay.t;^^^;^'^^^^^^  f^^'  ^v"^'^*^^ 
flot    It  HTouId  not  be  n'crhf      V       ^  '.        '  "°'  y®"  *""»* 

ero.»  «,d  „oWe-„,-,h  ,ha.  which  i.  i^nfo^hlT*" 


S-,. 


*t  - 


giili4fc,^^'j^!-toi;^.„  ...  ■..«.  ^H,  ' 


/•I 


AFTËl'. 

bum  withshame,  aid  rage,  and  huniiliatLn  ^henevei  I  itt 
him,  and  feel  his  kii.gfy,  compassionate  look  upon  me,  the 

pauper  he  hàs  saved  froni  beggary  and It  is  wicked    J 

know,  and  unjust,  if  you  like,  but  I  wiU  hâte  him  for  itmi 
wholelifelongl"  .  - 

"Good  Heaven  above  !  "  says  Miss  Hariott.  '  She 
rtands  basket  in  one  hand^  shears  in  the  other,  a  pétrifie.! 
listener. 

The  giri  has  not  risen,  but  she  sits  upright  as  a  dart,  hei 
«mail  handsclenchcd,  her  eyes  aflame  with  passionate  angei 
and  scorn.  Ail  this  has  been  burning  witliin  her  since  the 
night  of  her  arrivai,  and  niust  corne  eut.  Perhaps  Marie  ii 
nght,  and  Aupt  Denise  nas  not  judiciously  trained  this  girL 
A  violent  and  undisciplined  temper  appearç,  certainly,  to  be 
brfe  of  her  prominent  gifts. 

Longworth  standa  listfening  to  etery  word.     Jf  they  tum 

"^'their  he^ds  ever  so  slightly  they  niust  infallibly  see  him  ;  but 
both  are  too  absorbed.  For  him,  the  picture  he  sees,  he 
never  forgets.  The  small,  slight  figure  sitting  in  the  garder, 
chair,  in  its  gray  dress,  a  knot  ôf  crimson  ribbon  at  the  throat, 
another  in  the  hair~for  even  thèse  détails  he  takes  in~and 
the  impassioned,  ringing  voicethat  speaks.  The  words  he 
hears  remain  with  him  forever— his  portrait  as  Mlle.  Reine 

■ces  him.   . 

There  is  a  pause  after  her  last  words,  Misa  Hariott.  h.-. 

face  very  grave,  breaks  it.  \ 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  cnielly  unjust "         i 

"Ah,  he  is  your  friend  !  "  breaks  in  mademoiselle,  (»ii 

Kom. 

,  "  If  he  were  not,  if  he  were  the  most  utter  stranger,  I 
would  still  maintain  it— you  are  cruelly  unjust  to  Mr.  Long 
•orth.  Yes,  he  is  my  friend— my  friend,  tried  and  true,  ol 
ffy^LyggJ^r-and  I  know  hijii  to  hf.  incapable  ofon«««rdif 


»5 


Ihought  or  action—a   thorouiîlily   gênerons   and  hor-orablf 
Bian.     Ile  s|>ofee  to  yr^nr  giandmciher  as  I  would  hâv^don* 


^ 


AFTAR. 

Lf^  tT-  '"'^  '  "^'''"  "°"'*^  ^^^'^  »P°k=n  onc.h.|  r 
I!^:    *"^,/"   '•'^nou^cing  your  fortune.  let   me   tell  yoa 

well  ?    You  talk  hke  Marie,  as  if  I  doubted  it      Mon  Die7 
I^y^o.  first  to  last  he  is  the  grandest  of  .en,  and  I^". 

ev71*lT^''     ^°"  '^^  °""  ^*>'  ^^«  ^  injustice,  ho^- 
evcr.     I  ara  glad  your  sister  is  disposed  to  be  more  fir     I 

-ise,,»  Reine,  Xrg,o°X  ht^rCT  r^ 

"anolt  eakes  the  haad  she  e«ends  in  L^  t 

«^PS  a.d  «.es  .he  I„„,  b^XrlTd       "  '"  •""■•  ""■' 

k  W       .i,*"^"'"  ">=  '^y^  "  "«d  I  no.  .cil  yo„  before  I  feu 
kfa« v^you a.  sigh, on  board  .he  HespeL?    ,"°'.'^'' 

t«nrr':,fj^-^l^~ah.e,  ,:^s 


■^^l'^^i^^^^^^^-- 


/■ 


i 


I3« 


APTRR. 


do  with  a  vengeance.    But  still,  I  repeat  and  mam.pin^^yôi. 
aie  cruelly  unjust  to  Laurence  Longworth."  /    - 

"  I  think  Monsieur  Longworth  is  hère,"  says  Reiiie,  fod» 
denly. 

She  has  chanced  to  glance  around  and  seen  him  standing 
there,  not  three  yards  off,  examining  the  long,  yellow  bads  o< 
A  tea-rose.     She  tums  quite  white  for  a  moment,  and  hei 
foce  takes  a  startled  look  ;  the  next  a  flash  of  proud  deâanëfr 
leaps  mto  it.    She  faces  him  resolutely,  lips  compressed,\ 
eyes  alight;  *  ^ 

*'You  hâve  heard  every  word,"  that  fiery  glance  says; 
"you  know  how  I  scorn  and  despise  you,  and  1  am  glad  of 
it"  ' 

"Good  aflemoon,  ladies,"  says  Mr.  Longworth,  placidly, 
taking  off  his  hat.  "I  trust  I  sefe  you  both  well  after  the 
fatigue  of  last  night  ?" 

Neither  speaks.  Miss  Hariott  measures  with  her  eye 
the  distance  at  which  he  has  stood,  and  thoroughly  as  she  is 
accustomed  to  his  cool  audacity — or,  as  Franik  puts  it,  "  the 
îtupendous  magnificence  of  his  cheekiness  " — on  this  occa- 
sion it  for  the  first  instant  renders  her  dumb.  The  pause 
giows  so  embarrassing  that  Reine  rises  to  go. 

"Mademoiselle,"  the  gentleman  says,  "if  my  coming 
hastens  your  departu^ç.  Miss  Haiiott  will  havè  rèason  te 
regret  my  very  ill-timed  visit." 

"Your  coming  does  not  influence  my  departure  in  the 
least,"  responds  Mademoiselle,  coldly  and  proiidly.  "  Mees 
Hariott" — she  turns  to  that  la4v,  a  lau^jh  in  her  eyes — "you 
cannot  imagine  how  much  good  n^  visit  has  done  me.  I  gc 
away  with  conscience  lightened,  and  a  niiod  relieved,  and  ] 
will  retum  to-morrow,  and  ail  the  to  inoirows,  if  you  will  le» 
me.  Until  then,  give  me  one  of  your  roses  as  a  soaT» 
jàil . •- 


.  «" 


"  1  wonder  you  care  to  haye  it.   Mrs  Windsor's  spediueiw 
c  tbe  finisst  in  the  country  round." 


\ 


^1- 


.'■JV, 


iiie,  md» 

standing 
bnds  ci 
and  hei 
deâanc& 
pressed,  \ 

;e  says  ; 
glad  of 

placidly, 
ifter  the 

her  eye 
is  she  ia 
it,  "  the 
tis  occa- 
e  pause 

coniing 
ason  te 

in   the 

"  Mees 
— "you 
s.  Igc 
],  &nd  ] 

will  le< 

BOUT» 


APtàH. 


Adieu,    ±en. 


''Tiicjr  «re  not   *alf  as  sweet  as  tese. 
"•dame,  until  we  meet  again." 

She  pa^s  Mr.  Longworth  in  sil.nce,  Wth  a  stately  littla 
bow     Mr.    Ix)ngworth,  aiso  in   silence,  gravely  ard   on» 
'oundlyrcspcnds.     Miss  Hariott  goes  Jith  her  gue"to7e 
^ te  and  ^hen  she  returns,  finds  Longworth  co™  ortlwyt 

Îh  tT  K      ^°""«  ^"^^  ^  J'^^*  ^*<^^«d.  and  (need  it^ 

-      «»d  ?)hght,ng  the  inévitable  cigar.     Wiîh  stemest  1   «^ 

m  hpr  eye,  the  lady  faces  him.  ^  ^ 

.a:XpTth';::r  ^'^'  '°^  '°°«  ^^  ^-  '-^  »-<«°« 

Tt^nH,     ^  /°"  '°  *  '"'""*^-     I  °P«ïed  youi  gâte 

LTh?  T"'"  ""'>  """  "  •''  fi^«  "linutes'past.  , 
must  hâve  been  standing  there  examining  that/yeC rose 
(the  rose-wonns  are  at  it,  by  the  way)  fjy  fif Z  ZnZ 
.  But  was  ,t  eavesdropping.  Miss  Hariott?  An^d  isTvou; 
^bitand  MU.  Reine's  to  discuss  fa.ily  secrttfin  th    ^'e^ 

"  You  heard  every  word  she  said  ?  " 

"  Eveiy  word,  i  think  and  hope.» 

"  Very.  weV  says  the  lady,  with  some  gn«ness      "At 

least  you  veriÊed  the  adage  that  listeners  X  hêar  any 

^^^hemselves,  and  you  hâve  found  out  iïow  co^di^"! 

-^lïïadenioisfelle  Reine  detests  you."  ^      cordially 

mth  a  littJe  aversion."  \       ^^n^, 

"Begiu  what?*' 


KUUeiM 


"  Excecdingly  p/etty.  Miss  Hester." 


iu. 


;:a;3ft«?i^M'iv 


I3Ô 


AIfTEÂ. 


"  Vou  ;)aid  her  very  nurked  attention  lut  night,  i 
abserved.  ' 

"  Did  you  ?  Perhaps  you  also  observed  thaï  very  marked 
ittention  was  paid  her  by  every  other  man  in  the  hpuse.' 

*'  And  she  will  be  very  rich." 

"  A«  one  of  Mrs.  Windsor's  heiresseg— naturally." 

"  Larry,"  çoes  on  Miss  Hariott,  fiUing  her  basket  with 
^ad  leaves,  "I  observed,  likewise,  that  Mrs.  VVindsoi 
«ratched  you  two  with  very  friendly  eyes.  Do  you  think  yo« 
can  do  better  than  become  her^andson-in-law  ?  " 

♦*  I  don't  think  I  can." 

"  And  it  is  time  you  married." 

"  So  several  'persons  hâve  informed  me  recently.  Is  my 
hair  tuming  gray,  are  the  crow's-feet  growing  so  painfiiUy 
plain,  or  do  I  show  symptoms  of  dropping  into  niy  dotage, 
that  the  necessity  of  an  immédiate  wife  is  thus  thrust  upon 
me?". 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  pursues  the  lady  of  the  cottage,  "  in 
any  man  or  woman  marrying  for  money  ;  but  if  marriage  and 
money  go  hand  in  '  hand,  held  together  by  a  raodetate 
amount  of  affection,  why,  then  the  combination  is  eminently 
judicious,  and  greatly  to  be  desired." 

"And  that  moderate  amount  of  affection  you  think  I 
could  gçt  up  for  Mrs.  Windsor's  elder  granddaughter  ? 
Well,  she  is  beautiful  mough,  and  brilliant  enough  to  war- 
rant a  moderate  amou^certainly.  I  présume  it  would  be 
quite  useless  to  tum  my  thoughts  toward  la  petite  Reine  ? 
Her  insuperable  aversion  is  not  to  be  overcome." 

"  She  rings  true  and  clear  as  steel,  She  does  not  like  yoi 
-—in  her  place  perhaps  I  would  not  elthér " 

"  But  what  hâve  I  donc  ?  I  try  to  be  civil.  I  iskecfher 
to  dance  twice  last  night,  and  she  refused.  She  runs  away 
Mnw  «hon  r  /.««-»      Shegoesout  of  theroom  wh<»n  X  virile 


Ûie  Stone  ïloiise.     I  consider  myself  badly  treated— -I 
■corned.,and  I  don't  know  whv." 


•I   _ 


.■-'iiÈ.'iii3>i, 


AFTER 


139 


"  I  think  y6u  Jo,  or  you  are  duller  thir   r  — . 
"Whyof  course?" 

«  n«y  Power  ,rf  fascfearion  hâve  b^TpU    .hT  " 
«.  U»  in,agi„.,i,„,  I  p,es„„e.     B„"   M?d~lS Xr" 
«o.  pIa.n-„„  ,0^  „„„  ^  „.  ^  suchT^n  'e^eHuci' 
"  angehc  «,.ce,  and  such  a  «nik.    The  Ifeht  of  rt«      f 

<Mt«  i»  beauty  less  if  it  did."  ^  *^'  '■''"'^- 

r  ,^7  !""■     ""'  •'°  )">"  ™'=^"  '«''tell  me-1  » 
M»l1^°u!rhll':r''°"  ■"■'''•'"«•  "«P'  ">«  Mlle 

"IndeedI    You  did  «,,  always  Aink  ,„.'. 
»earl,  .h™„gh  wid.'I"  e t„L  tp  s^Tif  ^"  ^°"  "™ 
i»  a  bandle  of  new  „o,.l.      771       "^  "'"'  "^>  ■""' 

l"Ve  your  opiniTfr*       ^      °'"  ""^  ^""^  ■«  "" 


««eu  alone  m  the  dmwmg^roon,  *hen  he  en'ers 


■'*' 


¥<l^<iSLufl*«>.<  '(fcj. 


•mmmmm 


'W 


[ 


t4ô 


APTÈk. 


\ 


perfectly  diessed,  ail  the  red-gol^  h^ir  floâing  oosely,  aivJ 
»he  looks  up  and  welcomes  him  with  a  cordiality  that  ampl, 
makes  ainends  for  her  obdurate  sister'^  perversity. 

""I  came  to  ask  you  how  you  were^  but  I  nced  not,"  he 
•ays,  holding  the  slim,  wl^ite  hand  she  éives  him,  and  looking 
into  the  bright  face.  "  I  wonder  if  anything  could  make  yoo 
look  pallid  and  fatigued  ?" 

"Not  five  hours'  dancing,  cortainly.  Besides,  I  slept  aU 
day;  I  hâve  a  talent  for  sleeping.  We  ail  hâve  some  one 
talent,  hâve  we  not  ?  The  party  was  pleasant,  and  I  like 
youi  Bayiftouth  people  so  much.  How  very  handsome  your 
cousin  is,  Mr.  Longworth." 

"Totty— Mrs.  Sheldon  ?  Yes  she  is  rather.  Ihadan- 
other  cousin  présent  last  night  for  whom  you  do  not  in- 
quire,  and  who  stands  in  need  of  inquiry,  I  assure  you." 
"  Mr.  Frank  Dexter  ?  He  is  well,  I  hope  ?  "  |  \ 
"Not  at  ail  well— uncommonly  ill  I  should  say  •  in  mind 
of  course,  not  in  body.  Need  I  speak  more  plainly  of 
what  is  patent  to  ail  the  world  ?  In  your  strength  remémber 
mercy.  Miss  Landelle  1  " 

Mrs.  Windsor  cornes  in,  is  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Longw(brth 
and  presses  him  to  stay.     This  second  invitation  he  als^  dé- 
clines, thinking  as  he  does  so  that  Frank  is  halfright,  àncî 
that  he  must  be  developing  sundry  tame-cattish  proclivitieg  - 
to  be  so  greatly  in  request. 

Reine  does  not  appear,  but  as  h^  goes  down  the  avenue 
he  catches  a  glimpse  of  a  gray  dress,  and  a  red  breast  knol 
ahead.    She  makes  no  attempt  to  avoid  him,  returns  his  for- 
mal  salute,  and  passes  on.    And  then  at  his  feet,  where  she 
bas  stood  a  moment  befbre,  he  sees  that  other  knot  of  cfim-  ^ 
«onsilk  which  she  has  worn  in  her  hair.     He  stoop»  vdA 
picks  it  up,  glavices  after  her  with  the  honest  intention,  m  I 
doubt,  ôf  foUowing  and  restoring   the  dropped  propeity 
thmkii  betterof  it»  put»^  4t  into  his  breagt-pocfce^^ffid-Jo^ 


.m 


■f- 


AFTEM, 


■41 


«  Anouier  tune,"  he  think.;  «my  intention,  are  /irtnao., 
km  my  courage  .s  weak.  It  would  take  mo«  moral  ne^ 
ftan^I^  possess  to  face  that  stately  Uttle  refngeratc.  .g«n 

He  goes  home,  and  dînes,  lingers  with  the  boarders  for  . 
2°^^nd  «  "  chafïed  "  about  his  veiy  pzononn^^^; 
onastnight  to  Mrs.  Windsor's  heiress.  Frank  «ts  oppose 
gWenng  darkly  and  sullenly,  and  says  nothing.  Then  m'' 
I^ngworth  saunters  back  to  the  office  and  femainéth^. 
.  hard  at  work  untU  nearly  deven.  The  majority  JtZ 
boarders  hâve  retired  before  he  retums.  but  thiTLl  n^î 
quue  deserted  when  he  and  O'SuIlivan  ascend  the^cp^  Z 

worth  admired  yesterday,  and  wrapped  in  a  light  summf, 

^  nlht'/T      -.r'  Mr..Longworïh-,  "^d  at  this  time 
^  night  ?    You  wdl  get  your  death  of  cold.     What  ào^ 
mean  by  suting  hère,  and  lookin^  at  the  moon  ?^'  '^ 

Ihere  is  no  moon  to  look  at."  Mrs.  Sheldon  answers. 
^Jmgly.      She   nods  to  Mr.   O'SuUivan.   who  d^c  letU 
^es  m  at  once.     "  I  do  not  think  I  .as  looking  al  a^y 
thmg.     I  hâve  been  sitting  hère,  thin|çing  of-you." 

Thafs  friéndly,"  says  Longworth  in  his  calmest  ionc 
«Nothing  very  unkmd,  I  hope.  Which  of  my  failings  were 
you  grieving  over  as  I  came  up  ?  "  ^ 

J  Hâve  you  failings  ?  "  she  says.    "  I  suppose  you  hâve. 
b|«  I  never  see  them.    I  wouîd  be  ungenerous  indeed  if  ^ 

They  we  getting  on'dangerous  ground.     They  do  drifi 
apon  sund^r  shoals  and  q«cksands  occa^ioftally  in  convc-,.« 
•ation.  but  it  must  be  stated  thefault  is  notUe  gentleman's. 
^rr.L!!'.^"''"  "■"'"""  promptlynow-anythingmore 


-^^t»oi«e  tliaH  hi» 


remark,  more  unsèntimenuT tf.an^  tona 
cannot  well  be  conceiveil  ^  ^ 

-Id^'t  kDOwhow  it^maybe  withL/^^er  JÀ.t  ligh^ 


■*!.V''     l: 


'l-'-r  '.'.'■     ,•'■    '|4' 


^^^ 


/  '  -1', 


■^f 


n 


\\ 


f4a 


AFTEH. 


he  says,  «apprcssing a yawn,  "but  I  ain  CQnsuiaedI)  tleepy 

1  got  up  and  went  to  the  office  at  eight,  yt,u  know,   and 

hâve  been  hard  at  it  ever  since.     Better  co^iié  in,  Mrs.  SheJ. 

don  ;  you'U  catch  cold  to  a  dead  certainty  in  this  dew." 

"  Lauience  I"  she  exclaims  petulantly,  «  I  hâte  thatnatm 

«iom  you.      CaU  me  Totty  alwayi^no  me  does  bat  m 

now,  and  I  like  it    Mamma  says  Laura." 

"VVell,  if  you  like.  Ifs  not  a  veiy  dignified  appeU» 
tion— —  "  "^ 

«But  I  préfet  it  |îom  you,"  she  says,  half  under  hei 
breathj  «it  bnngs  back  the  old  times  whep  we  were  both 
foung.    Oh,  if  they  could  only  corne  ail  over  again  I  " 

"  It  would  be,a  tremendous  mistake,  take  my  word  for  it 

Old  ttmes  should  never  be  broughl  back.     Let  the  dead  die 

and  be  buned  decently  and  forevcr  oat  of  sight  and  mind."  * 

"  Is  there  nothing,  theii,  in  the  past  you  would  wish  brouirii^ 

back,  laurence?" 

lîfpthing,"  retums  Longworfh,  pW^Uy,  "except,  per- 
ï»  a  few  absconding  subscribers.  But  they  are  hopeless." 
I  was  thinking  when  you  came  up,"  she  goes  on,  her 
^ojce  huitied  and  tremulous,  "of  that  tiine  solong  ago,  when 
your  oncle  and  my  raother  behaved  so  badly  \o  us  both— to 
you  most  of  ail.  Whea  I  see  you  working  so  hard,  and  think 
of  what  you  were,  and  df  ail  y6u  hâve  lost  fbr  my  sake,  do 
you  thmk,-Laurence,  do  you  think  I  can  ever  forget  my 
folly  or  forgive  my  blindness?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not.  You  did  me  no  harm-pecuniarily 
at  least.  I  never  was  a  happier  man  in  my  life  than  smce  i 
liave  had  to  work  for  my  living.  Dpn't  let  the  fost  trouble 
you  on  my  account,  my  dear  Laura,  I  beg." 

His  tone  is  cool---is  sarcastic,  almost,  one  might  say.  But 
Ihough  hei  heart  is  beating  suffocating'.y,  she  is  not  to  bc 
«^oppeq  'n  what  she  wishes  to  say. 


«  1 


■•«d  to  thmk  at  ail .  now  I  seem  to  do  nothing  else.    Oh 


-?' 


F  r  "^    H''^'^      ' 


^I^TEM. 


M3 


h* 


•»i»t  a  chfld  I  WMI  how  Kttle  I  valncd  aU  Jiat  r-«  ^.^ 
in  a  stifled  voIce,  «ir  it  too  late?  • 

^n^^^^' composure.  He  is  in  for  it,  «,d  ma, 
«  weU  hâve  u  eut  "  I  offered  you  a  boy»,  ^i^  ^. 
«on.  and  you  ve^r  properly  refused  it    You  th«w  me  ^ 

?^„?  7  " "°  '"urrection.  As  to  the  rest-myoncS^Ï 
^e  and  so  on-I  don't  regret  its  loss.  As  Mr.  W 
wo^s  he^  presumptive  I  was  simply  good  for  noth  ng^^ 

XTâeT^  STV'  ■*'•*"  "'  "^'  '  •»'  ^'"'  "-"  "" 

lor  1  never  do.    You  sec  m  me  a  oerfectlv  ^ti^a^A 
content  wit.^  to.lay,  not  asking  too  m^cf  ^f  ^^^  ^t  1^ 
neyer  neverV  an  instant  wishing  to  recall  yesteZ     We 
wfll  always  be  good  ftiends  and  cousins,  I  hoje    TotK^^  u 
morethanfriends-n^veragain."  ^'  ^^^  ' 

^'?;?^!^'^''f^y^^<^^<^<^^^^    Slie ha.  buried  her  face 
Tcct^  andfumed  from  h.m.  d,«ned,  hudibled/ .e! 

"Best  corne  in  »  he  says,  gently;  *.you',e  certain  to  b. 
Uid  up  with  cold  in  the  head  to-morrow  " 


J^'^™  *^  *"«^  «ï««»  S  them,  fii;;;  oqthe  ^ 
-A  COU  in  th.  head  I"  di«  repe^.,  ««|  Uugi.,  derimdy 


»44 


LONGlVORTltS  IDTL. 


'  Vou  hâve  becn  a  poet  and  a  novelist,  Mr.  Ix,nirworth'  t»« 
fou  are  not  a  romantic  man.  Don't  let  m.  h  ,^°^°'**'  "" 
ninH  «,-_  T     'Il       •     ,.  '  *^'  ™^  detain  you — don'i 

oind  me— I  wiU  go  m  directly.»  /"«—«on  i 


"I  h«l  dted,  for  thi.  l«st  y«r,  to  know —- ' 
Yottloredme.     WhoshaU  tuni  on  Iktef 
1  c«re  not  if  love  corne  or  go 
Now;  thongh  your  love  seek  mine  for 
It  is  too  late. 

"  Yoa  foyed  me,  and  jrou  lored  me  not, 

A  little  much  and  ovennnch— 
Will  yon  foiget  as  I  forget  ? 
I*t  «U  dead  things  Ue  dead  j 
Are  soft  totouch." 


m 


CHAPTER  XL 

UHOVrORTB's  IDTU 

IS  face  has  shown  veo-  litde  feding  of  m.  «.rt,  „  I,, 
«ood  Iea„,„g  agains.  fte  ^...yl^^"^^, 

;ive„..HLTwrsrrr:r'trafr"T 


■h 


•"f 


gworth;  bot 
you— don'i 

that  he  hai 
>t  knowing 
>cs  in,  and 
&  romande 
ime  to  hii 


II 


thcd  pil 
s  impas- 
east  the 
p.  He 
oots  on 
kindlo  - 
île  nof 
s  qnct 


t-ONGlVORTirs  IDYL.  ,^- 

^J»^"  lire  sbp  ^..;Xt::^:^\:i^^  ^^^^^  ^«n  yeaa 
fwo,  and  in  love.  ^       ^^"^  «o'husiastic'^twenty. 

«•ko.  to  place.     HfiêfZ  ?       "ï^  *"=  "^  "  ^pril  ,„,; 

■"«  »aiag.,  ,her.  bis  U„lT  '  "1""'«^"  »  mini.. 

A.  a  K,  orphân  J:'  \XlZ,e  T  '°  ^  ^  -""  »- 
"Ode,  who  ail  hls  life  had  h.M  !,•.?•  *■"«*  "><•  <*"<««»    • 

«on  had  left  |,i„^.    h.  "^ ".  " J*'°"« """^'P  f  Mam. 

«a*  to  r.ckle«„e4  buf^^  f"  "'  «enerous  i«,p„Ue^ 
"  «a«ly  touched  as  a  Il'T  a„h  T  f  ^"^  '"''  ""^ 
fcaring  pnnciple,  of  a  «„1  1°.  ,  °^^''  ""■  "■'  G°* 
""Planted  (hat  neither  .L  .  m  T*  """""^  ^  *»P'> 
(and  ail  .hree  U..led  U-d  J^l'/',  """^  °'"  *'  «<"' 

*'■»•  H.  w„  <n,U,f„,  ,0^"  "°"  ""  "*"%  "adica.. 
■fay,  with  a  temper  assunn^  7  ''  "^  "'^  '"^^  as  th. 
<"•  »«*cn  w«d,er  T/IV"'"'  "  "■"  »  '^'  ''»"* 


,  "«ïworth  was  proud  of  bim.    AU  tb» 


ù^î.'j,fc^.'-s«.-*v'A  : 


|'">ï*9r 


I4Ô 


LONGWORTW^  IDYL 


love  of  a  naoney-grubbing  life  that  inight  hare  been  dhide<: 
bctjreen  wif-  and  children,  was  concentrated on  his  boy.     Hc 
sent  him  to  a  Northern  collage  untU  he  was  eighteen,  and 
then  to  Gennany  for  the  next  four  years  to  complète  a  mosi 
thoroughly    unbusiness-like  and    uncommercial  éducation 
The  boy  should  never  grub  along  in  <lingy  warehouses,  no: 
lose  that  bright  and  golden  beaijty  of  his,  pouring  over  drj 
a^dust  ledgers.     I  le  should  not  even  be  a  professional  man  ; 
with  the  wealth  he  was  to  inheHt,  what  need  of  toiling  to 
master  a  profession  ?  He  should  ^  a  young  Geoigian  prince  ; 
he  should  marry,  by  and  by,  of  Vhe  elect  of  the  land  ;  he 
«hould  rear  sons  (o  hand  the  nam^  of  Longworth,  undefiled 
by  commerce,  doirn  to  dim  futuritjà     That  was  the  old  man'i 
ambition,  and  young  Laurence  was,  only  too  ready  andwiU 
ing  io  grajtify  it.  \ 

He  led  alordly  life  ;  his  pockets  weré  filled  with  mone) 
Icattered  hither  and  thither  with  a  reckléss  ptodigality.     Mr 
Longworth  never  stinted  him— when  he  traveled  it  was  et 
prince.    Indeed  he  was  known  as  "  Duke  Laurence  "  durin| 
his  life  at  Heidelberg.     With  it  ail  hé  had  his  own  ambition  • 
and  high  sensé  of  honor,  and  notions  of  the  obligations  of  i 
prince,  and  studied  hard,  and  ended-his  course  with  univei 
tky  honore.     Among  the  varied  and  useful  information  no 
set  down  in  the  university  course,  was  a  taste  for  smoking, 
for  the  unliniited  consnmption  of  lager-bier,  and  the  othei 
German  nectars,  for  small-sword  exercise,  and  so^t-eyed,  fair- 
haired  Gretchens.    About  one  of  thèse  ûauleins  he  fought  > 
duel  the  last  year,  pinked  his  adversary,  without  doing  htin 
oiucli  damage,  and  finally  retumed  home  andfeU  in  love  witl 
his  second  cousin,  Laura.    I^  was  his  very  first  serions  "  af 
(aire  ;"  that  of  Grttchen  had  been  the  fcriest  sammer^y 
fiu»cy--bora  and  buried  in  an  hour.    But  this  was  différent, 
you  understand.    She  waa,aot  unUk«  Gretchen  either,  atsi». 


-toéni  talHor  ter  if^  TncfirédHeven  then  to  a  deliptAi] 
plumpness,  ail  that  flaxen  hair  falling  flufly  and  cdmpy  tober 


.  tiXSi'^aiià&s^sîiàjAMkii'u 


i. 


^  «a  .h.  «ad,  Ja  ™'i  ^:  j;f,;t"  •'"•""■■"" 

n«he,  .acuoas,  and  insipid,  and  sm,  """'«' r-»»»%. 

r  "".bon..,  and  d„,sed  i„  ^:,  f  " ''T»  ^«««e 

diamondslndj  and  buttons  ai  m^!         !:  *"''  """  "«* 

-  -"de  in  wonder  and  a^Sôn^  """'"*  ^'  'f^  °>«"    ' 

"■onds  «f  Ae  6ra  wa^  Si  '"  "^  %'P''''>.  «"d  «ked  dia.     ' 
His  p„s«„^  ^  ;^^;»- »l-rtne  Itae*,  aad  br<«ddo.h. 

.  °ff" 'obis  princes.  c6h2ra"dTi;":r"''"P''''  '"«•■' 

.  The  cosdy  book.  ahd  bouqS  shc  fe'  "™  "'  ""^"• 
^=  ie*d^  ..„,hed  be,  imn  ..  s„„f  î"'^:.^'"".  >«' 
I«0'  lo  insist  on  lying  at  her  feet^!l  ,1,  "^ ""'  "' 

-  f-..  bu.  ibis  Zl^oJ^ZZZt'.^'"  """y  "'""■    • 

-,.'.ndidy„u„g,„,„.    And'.oll'rifLr'''.''"''  '■"'"' 
'nd  Jone  wa.  approachin.  and  M  *  ,^    °"'"''=  *°™  on, 

Bajnno^th  home.  ."'•"'».  "4  going  bacli  10  b«f 

A  Word  of  Mti  •Lolte»n«h      ci.    '*"        ' 
«»  <*i  n,iUio„.i,e  „S^  J^  "!  «  «7';'X  .lin  ,». 

•-^-;»«x.«^l"rn^°-l-^,-- 


'    ..4-       •  . 


V 


:«^«;viii.'.--;iSa 


^ 


148 


LOifGtVORr/f'S  IDVL, 


early  youth  iiis  bitter  foe.  Mr.  Longwortlt  was  a  gooo  lutcr  ; 
he  never  pardoned  an  aflfront,  never  forgave  an  enemy  if  hc 
could  help  himself.  And  so>  when  at  the  beginning  Laurence 
had  come  one  day  full  of  the  news  and  exclaimed,  "  l  say, 
nncle,  here|s  Mrs.  Longworth  from  Baymouth  and  her  daugh- 
ter  stoppihg  at  the  Sheldons'.  It  would  only  be  handsome, 
lir,  'I  think,  to  ask  them  hère,"  the  old  man  had  bent  his  bushy 
pay  brows  and  scowled. 

*'Tom  Longworth's  widow  »nd  her  girl  hère  !  WTiat  are 
they  after?  Very  bad  taste  on  their  part  to  come  where  1 
«n  ;  but  I  know  that  woman— a  brazen,  bold-faced  husèy, 
ùid  vicious  enough  for  anything.  Tpm  Longworth  was  a 
cnave  and  a  fool  ;  no  widow  or  daughter  of  his  shaîl  ever 
axMs  this  thitshold." 

"  But  yotf  hâve  no  right,  sir,  to  visit  the  wrong-doing  of  the 

âther  upon " 

"  Bosh,  Larry  I     How  old  is  this  girl  ?"  , 

"  Sixteen,  sir,  and  ône  of  the  loveliest " 

"Of  course  I  of  course  I  Every  bread-and-butter  schooL 
girl  is  an  angel  in  the  eyes  of  a  soft-headed  boy  of  twenty- 
(woi  What  has  her  mother  brought  her  down  hère  for? 
Couldn't  she  barter  her  off  up  North  ?  Or  does  she  want  to 
catch  young  Sheldon  ?  Hc's  next  door  to  a  fool,  but  his 
prospects  are  good,  and  I  daresay  Syah  Longworth  will 
find  it  casier  to  inveigle  a  fool  than  a  man  endowed  with  the 
trcrage  amount  of  common  sensé.  For  you, 'Larry,  my  lad, 
I  never  interfère  with  your  amusements,  as  you  know— flirl 
with  this  little  Longworth,  or  anjr  one  else,  to  your  heart's 
content.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  calf  love  which  young 
fellowsof  your  stamp  find  it  indispensable  to  get  rid  of  some 
\»m  before  they  many  and  settie  ;  you  may  bestow  a  little  of 
iU  raperfluity  on  this  girl,  if  you  like  ;  but  when  it  cornes  to 
"»"yipg.  you  shall  please  me  as  well  ^  yourselT  That  will 
dotlteserve  youFëloqûence  for  the  future,  when  you  g<3 
to  rejjMresent  your  nstive  State  in  Con^ess,  you  know— don'* 


-•4^; 


gooQlMter; 
enemy  if  hc 
ng  Laurence 
ed,  *«  l  say, 
d  her  daugh- 
:  handsotne, 
nt  his  bushy 

What  are 
ime  where  ] 
iced  husiy, 
orth  was  a 
i  shall  ever 

loing  of  the 


tter  school- 
of  twenty- 

here  for? 
ihe  want  to 
>ol,  but  his 
;worth  will 
ïd  with  the 
ry,  niy  lad, 
knoW — fliri 
our  heart's 
hich  young 
id  of  some 
1  a  little  of 
it  comes  to 

That  will 


len  you  g<3 
low— don'» 


Wni-*o  Mis.  Totty  oeeri  J  k  r  ^  ^"  *  '*"«^«  '• 
"*>«*«V  *o  |00d  ge,a„  of  W.  lifej  .ai  te  ,„^  ™ 


/ 


^^^'«Aitlfî^W-  '"■< 


t|» 


tOSGWORTH^S  IDYL, 


foiget  and  fo^re  the  past,  and  take  her  to  hii  heart  ém  ^ 
daughter  of  his  home  ? 

James  Longworth  listens,  growing  purple  with  passion,  and 

nsesfromhischairwithagreatoath.    Acceftherl  the  art 

fiil,  maneuveringdaaghterof  a  brazen,  sordid.  natch-m^ng 

%.oj|py-hunting  mother  ?    Allow  Toni  Longworth's  daughtei' 

to  enter  this  house  as  its  mistress  ?    He  would  set  fire  to  it 

mth  his  own  hand  and  bum  it  to  the  ground  first    For 

Laurence,  he  is  a  fool,  a  love-sick,  sentimental,  ridiculous 

young  fool.  and  if  ever  he  mentions  that  girl's  name  in  hi> 

heanng  again,  he  wiU  turn  him  ont  of  the  house  without  a 

•himng,  hke  the  beggar  he  was  when  he  took  him  in 

James  Longworth  in  a  passion  is  a  sight  not  good  to  see  • 
ne  is  not  choice  in  his  words  nor  particular  in  his  epithetoi.' 
He  smks  back  now,  out  of  breath,  mopping  his  crimson  old 
race,  and  glanng  up  ferociously  angry  at  his  heir.     That  con- 
tumaaous  young  gentleman  stands   befor^  him,  his  blond 
ace  qmte  colorless  with  a  passion  as  irftense  as  his  own,  hia 
ips  set,  a  steely  fire  in  his  handsôme  blue  eyes,  but  though 
h^  rage  is  at  white  heat,  he  holds  himself  wellin  hand. 
Whenever  the  uncle  waxes  furious,  and  coarse,  and  vituper- 
ahve,  the  nephew  puts  him  down  with  contemptuous.  lordl»  ' 
gentfemanly,  frigid  quiét.  • 

«  Whatever  abusive  epithets  you  may  find  it  necessaiy  to 
use,  su-,"  m  his  most  ducal  way  says  «Duke  Laurence  " 
lookmg  the  fiery  old  man  unwinkingly  in  the  eye,  «you  wiU 
hâve  the  goodness  to  apply  to  me,  not  tp  a  young  lady  whose 
acceptance  of  my  suit  1  consider  the  chief  honor  of  my  life. 
I  wiU  not  give  her  up.  As  to  tuming  me  out  without  a 
■hUlmg,  the  beggar  that  you  found  me,  that  is  a  threat  yoo 
hâve  made  before.  To  saVe  you  the  trouble  of  repeating  it 
the  next  tjme  you  make  it  I  will  take  you  at  your  word.- 
Mr.  Laurence  Myes  the  roonyind  smarting  with  «ngar= 


Md  wounded  dignity,  rides  at  a  furiou»  rate  to  hii  lad/i 
►"ww,  to  proclaûn  that  thnngh  good  and  ill,  thitwgb  In 


r-y 


sart  it»  tht 

udon,  and 
ri  theart 
ch-making, 
s  daughtei 
ït  firç  to  it 
first  Foi 
ridiculou! 
ime  in  his 
without  a 
in. 

Ki  to  see; 
}  epithets. 
iinson  old 
rhat  con- 
his  blond 
i  own,  his 
It  though 
in  hand. 
1  vituper- 
s,  Iordl« 

essaiy  to 
urence," 
you  wiU 
]y  whose 
r  my  life. 
ithout  a 
reat  yoa 
»ting  it^ 
jrd." 

h  aagM — -- 
blad/f 
a|b  In 


LONGWORTWS  iDYl.  |)| 

«^Thi^T'  "^^  "^'^'^  ^'  wouldn't-he  makes  her  head 
«che  when  he  gocs.  on  like  that,  he  had  better  sueak  to 
nwunma,  manima  wiU  know  what  tn  H«      a  "T  *^ 

lu»  ».»       I  u  ^*  *°  °®-    And  manuna  kniti 

her  maternai  brows,  and  looks  anxioua.  ^^ 

.«"ii;*T''^  **r  ^"^  '"''*°  '^^  '  "  »»»«  asked  ;  «  is  it  onl, 
•a  idle  threat  of  anger,  or  wiU  he  keep  his  woil?  I  iTZ 
*boutdisinheritingyou."  F  "«  worar    i  meau 

"lil-s^?  î*  extremelylikely,"says  Laurence,  cooUy  ; 
!1^     .   and  stick  to  them.     But  you  know  iL.  Lng. 

^ter;^-"'^°^"°^  ^•'^  --^--  --^ 

^Oh  II  know,  I  know,"  says  Mrs.  Longworth,  m  a  stiU 
^  worried  tone;  «of  course  yod're  eve^ïïing  th^ 
honorable,  Lay,  but  it  isn't  that.  You  see  there  S  ho^ 
dae  on  our  s.de  too,  and  I  couldn't,  ohl  I  really  coull" 
«flowyou  to  mm  yourself  for  my  daughter-s  sake.  If  Z» 
undewon't  consent,  you  mustgive  her  up."  ^ 

.K«  MU   *  ^'^^^'  PennUess,  good-for-nothing  son-in-law  I 
-lould  hâve  on  my  hands,"  adds  the  lady.  menfally,  glancL 
contemptuously  to  the  fair-haired  prince  of  the  hlse  of 
longworth.     «A  nice  lily  of  the  field  you  would  ^tf  eu 
off  with  a  shilling,  neithet  able  to  toil  L  spin,  tw^lwo     ■ 

rf^eir  r'':,'""°*^°«  ^"'  *«  read'to^fre^i:: 

of  poetry  books,  and  taik  likfethe  hero  of  a  noveL" 

ïv^    f  K   ^  ï"*^  strength,  a  fair  éducation,  and  the 

^^^•efiie.^7«,oer  for  mysè^f.    The  worW  i.  n^ 
o^t^^Uopentt    I-knothing  but  that  Tot^^b. 


:.4,. 


nr 


LOHGWOiTtrS  IDYL. 


M»  LoDgworth  listens  to  this  rhapsody  witL  iU-c»nMaiA 
contempt       ,  '  -, 

"Well,  my  dear  boy,"  she  says,  -if  you  can  bring  yoai 
>  onde  round,  weU  and  good-I  wiU  be  delighted  to  give  for 
Totty.    Buk  if  you  cannot— and  indeed  I  am  afraid  yota  can 
net,  for  he  id  the  most  obstinate  old  wretch  on  earth— if  rot 
cannot,  I  say " 

"YouwiU  refuse  me  Totty— do  you  mean  that?"  criei 
the  lad,  indignantly. 

**  Well,  now,  Laurence,  be  reasonable.  Think  of  it  Yoe 
«re  twenty-two,  you  bave  no  profession,  you  are  unfit  for 
trade,  you  can't  live  on  a  very  fine  university  éducation  and 
aknowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin,  French  and  German.  I 
bebeve  a  young  man  who  bas  to  make  bis  way  in  the  world 
mU  get  on  much  better  without  any  of  those  ^tKings,  although 
tte  French  and  German  might  not  hurt  him.*  There  would 
be  an  engagement  of  years  and  years,  and  I  object  to  long 
engagements,  and  I  am  poor,  very  poor,  Larry,  and  Totty 
would  bave  4  bard  time.  StiU  we  won't  do  anything  pre 
maturely;  we  wUl  wait  and  see  wbat  you  can  do  with  the 
flinty-bearted  old  uncle." 

Laurence  seeks  ont  Totty-poor  Totty  1-and  pours  hit 
love  and  bis  wrath  into  her  ears  until  she  cries.  Vfhy  doei 
he  corne  to  her?  she  says,  piteously.  She  doesn't  know- 
mamma  knows;  whatever  mamma  says,  she  must  do  of 
course.  Oh,  yes,  she  Ukes  him~well,  loves  him  tiien,  and 
•  ill  wait  for  him,  if  mamma  will  let  her,  ever  and  ever  ao 
long,  or  will  marry  him  to-morrow  if  mamma  U  wiUing  iu«t 
the  samrî.  But  please  don't  go  on  so  any  more;  it  alwayi 
makes  her  head  acbe,  and  she  is  willing  to  de  anything,  and 
please  eveiybody,  if  only  mamma  wiU  give  her  leave. 

Uiu-ence  goes  home  disspirited,  sore,  very  love-^ck,  and 
„CMt  down  indeed.    Qld  Mr.  jLonggarth  looks  at  hinraw^- 


laugh»  to  bimself,  and  while  he  laughs  he  pitiei  bis  boy.    He 
ta»  qmte  got  ôver  bis  anger  ;  bis  r«d4iot  ra^^  with  Ijur> 


ftl^     ^.■■.   !, 


'^''  : 


f>-v 


cnei 


tOATG  Urojt  IH  'S  ID  VL. 


Ift 


wd  her  gvl.  and  pack  them  back  where  they  came  from,  and 

while  the  uon  m  hot,  in  business  and  out  of  it     H.  ride. 

ir"'  T  °"î  **"•  L°°«^°«h  the  very  next  day,  ha. 
Jr.ST'  ?'««"<=•  .»>"»»««»-like  interview  with  he^p^" 
rçctly  avil,  quiet,  4)assionle89.  *^   . 

sic^s^rr  .t;:  t^hin^^x  ^^^'  ^1-*'^  '^^•' 

«.n/î«î  ...T/         . .  "'^  ^^^  ^  ^a"t  this  foolery 

«ded  and  done  with.  He  is  n.y  heir,  as  you  know  ;  he  Z 
been  brought  up  hke  a  king-s  son  ;  left  to  himself.  he  is  ut 
K^y  unable  to  make  his  way  an  inch  in  the  world.  I  havl 
^ne  «on  purpose  ;  I  want  him  to  be'solely  dépendent  upon 
me.  IfAe  marnes  your  daughter  l'il  turn  him  eut;  a  doUar 
of  my  money  he  shaU  neyer  see.    You  know  me,  ma'am 

end  wjti,  my  fortune  and  blessbg.  l'U  turn  him  adrift,  1 
•ay-1 11  take  my  sistei's  son,  fittle  Dexter.  in  his  place 
Youx  daughter  will  hâve  a  fine,  high-toned,  thoroughly  e^! 

TellrT^  ^'"-'T"^  ""■  "  '"^^^°^'  ^^^  yo"  ^1  hâve  a 
beggar  for  a  son-m-law.     I  don't  think  that  would  suit  your 

^k.  ma'am     But  the  boy  is  bothered  ôver  this  afiaifl" 

^nd  In      r.'  ^\  '^  "^^  ^^  ''  °-^'     Then  he'U^om 
^und  au  r^ht  and  fast  enough.    Young  men  die.  and  worms 

ZÎZl  \T  '"'.'''''^  Now,  Mrs.  Longworth,  how 
Td^^r  ^Z  '^"^ "^^'^d  «o  off  with  your  young  lady, 
^d  let  my  boy  see  her  no  more  ?  IVe  spent  nioney  freeh^ 
^in,  for  h.s  pleasure  and  profit,  up  to  the  presen^-  Z 
ready  to  spend  a  tnfle  more  now.  Name  yodr  price  and 
uy  and  be  reasonable."  ^      '     ° 

^h^^^°g'^V^-"-^"^^"g^Q"^''  ^^  thr  lady  in  , 
Z!\r^  yf"  *'°>^  ««y  daughter-s  affection,  are  tobe 
bought  and  sold  like  «,  many  baies  .f  cotton ?" 

1.  that  a  hint  ai  my  business,  ma  «n?    Tninotlncoi 


/ 


i 


V    \ 


"i^^ 


tu 


tONGWORTH'S  IDYL. 


ton  halei  aiiy  mow.  A«  to  the  affections-nef  er  n&oA  Hum 
Shesnot  herdear  mother's  daughter  if  she  doësnTiriefe 
bread  and  butter  to  a  kiss  and  a  drir.li  Df^at».  There-i 
young  Sheldon-I  hear  he's  wUUng-coull^t  ^  pas.  he, 
along  to  him  ?  For  you-you  are  poor,  I  undefstand,  te  ^ 
hâve  a  clear  head  for  figures.  Give  the  sum  a  name,  ma^in;] 
md  then  l'il  make  niy  stipulations." 

Mrs.  Longworth  looks  him  full  in  the  face,  and  names  the 
■uuK-no  tnfle.  Old  James  Longworth,  stiU  with  his  chin  on 
lus  cane,  chuckles  inaudible  admiration.  *'■ 

«  My  Word,  ma'am,  you're  a  cool  hand,  and  a  clever  one  t 

Ifs  a  round  priée,  but  for  the  lad's  sake .    If  i  pa„  it  j 

must  make  my  Conditions,  and  the  first  is,  that  Laurence  it 
to  know  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  of  this  UtUe  business 
transaction,  or  of  my  visit  to  you  at  ail." 

"Hâve  no  fear,  sir  ;  I  am  not  soproud  of  either  that  1 
un  hkely  to  proclsum  them,"  says  Mrs.  Longworth,  bitterly. 
Veiy  good,  rna^w— if  s  not  a  creditable  affak— to  you. 
The  second  is,  ^||:yo^%ë.«o  make  your  daughter  refuse 
hun-say  shé  «^^^wplSelf  and  her  affections,  and  what 
not-she^  knon^J^llâbesn't  you  can  coach  her.  You're 
a  clever  woman."  %      .^%  î  j.  .. 

;;  ît^'^^l  '^"  "^  mi^ngworth,  still  moie  bitteriy. 
The  third  IS,  that  you'U  àïany  her  to  WiUy  Sheldon,  il 
WiUy  Sheldon  wants  her,  and  iA  quickly  as  may  be.    He 
does  want  her,  doesn't  he  >  "     \  *       . 

"  He  has  asked  my  daughter  to  manT  him,  if  tfaat  is  whmt 

f^ou  mean."  " 

^^  "That  iswhàflmean.  J/Vpd  shé- "^ 

"  fieing  eng^ed  tq  your  nephew,  sir'  she  refoâed  him  " 
"VVell,  the  obstacle  of  that  engagement  being  lemoved, 
ttere  »  no  reason  why  thèse  young  hearts  shouldn't  corne 
togetber,"  says  old  Mr.  Longworth.  with  a  sneer^   ««Npth 


»/• 


?*,f*  *^  thdriughly  ciire  Lairy  of  his  besotted  foUr 
Sbekton'f  prospect»  are  good    he  is  senior  derk  in  »  bi| 


ï-^S*.*    .   .^^- 


.._*>•    -         -.^ii>!^ 


rthat  I 
t)itterly. 
•to  you.  ,j. 
r  refuse 
d  what 
You're 


^  .<", 


'>i 


■  »■-  ' 


^  tOlfiîWORTH^S  tDYt,  rfS 

MlIM^h  ^  l™rf»on..  young  lover,  who  stood  before  h,, 

^t    h?"rï  ^       temptmgly;  but  he  did  nothing  of  tl,. 
•'ord.   TWe  was  no  appeal^e  did  not  try  to  appeal    SI  c    ' 

everything.     He  stood  white  and  sUent,  his  brows  knit.  his       * 
tJue  eyes  stem,  amazed,  contemptudus,  and  th«  h"  took 

fedmg^hat  for  hun^and  for  a.  ji^,^.  ^pie  wcuTS^-, 


^ome  to  a»  èsar 

He  did  not  ^  away.    I|^spoké  <^  tfce  matter  j««t  OBCI 


;>)*.• 


ne  <nd  not  go  away;    H^s 
J^  Ui  ttiide^  in  words  brieiBj 


iti^w. 


.•// 


f(«"V*_ . 


,?• 


?a?^ 


P 


Uf 


Jl 


tl« 


LONGWORTW:    'DYt. 


••  Ifs  aU  ow,  sr,"  he  said.  '  "Si  •  is  to  marry  WOl  Shei 
don.  ru  tty  to  please  yoii  next  fnxe.  instead  of  myaelf 
Excuse  anything  I  may  hâve  said,  and  doa't  let  us  speak  o« 
itagain." 

But  he  grew  thin  as  a  shadow,  moodily  indiffèrent  to  ail 
things,  silent,  pale.  Nothing  could  arouse  or  -vmuse  him  ;  aU 
his  old  pursuits  lost  their  savor,  books,  horsee,  billiard»  held 
no  charnis,  his  apathy  grew  on  him  day  by  day.  As  the  lata. 
wedding-day  drew  near,  his  gloom  and  dépression  b-came  so 
profound  that  his  uncle  grew  alarmed.  The  boy  must  gc 
away— must  travel,  This  foolery  and  love-sickness  was  bc 
coming  startling— the  last  state  of  the  youthful  swain  was 
worse  than  the  fi^t     Laurence  must  try  change. 

"Ail  right,  sir,  l'ilgo,"  Laurence  answers,  wearily ;  «one 
place  is  as  good  as  another.     l'il  try  New  York." 

He  goes  to  New  York,  and  New  York  does  him  »)od, 
ofter  a  fashion.    Not  mentaily  nor  morally,  perhaps,  for  he 
gets  intô  a  rather  recWess  set,  and  gambles  and  drinks  much 
more  than  is  good  for  him,  but  it  certainly  helps  him  to  get 
over  his  love  fever.     He  reads  Miss   Laura   Longworth'a 
marriage  in  the  papers  one  July  morning,  stares  at  it  in  a 
stony  way  for  awhile,  then  throws  down  the  sheet,  and  laugb* 
in  the  diabolical  way  the  first  murderer  does  his  cachinnatior 
on  the  çtage,  and  out-Heroïts  Herod  in  mad  dissipation  fo. 
fte  ensuing  week.     At  th«  end  of  that  period  he  receive»  » 
visit  from  Mrs.  Longworth,  which  sobers  him  more  effectu 
ally  than  many  bottles  of  soéa-water. 

"  1  heard  you  were  hère,  Laurence,"  ghe  says,  to  the  young 
man,  who  receives  her  with  %ctic  coidness.  «  I  hâve  com« 
frooi  Baymouth  on  pnrpose  to  see  you.  Now  that  Totty  it 
married"  (laurence  grinds  his  teeth),  "and  the  money 
paid  to  the  last  cent,  I  may  speak.  I  do  not  do  it  foc 
rçvruge."    Oh,  the  vengeful  fire  that  blazes  in  Mrs.  Long- 

rtjïV«fw  affilie  saysit  \   "Fâr^^iifFôni  me  fo  cKèriiS  ~" 
»  nifib  afeding.    B»»ri  think  you  ought  to  know  Tot^ 


^ 


LONGWORTH  s  lOYL. 


Si»:- 


aU 


'one 


i$7 

^  you  bct,  Lauiy^i  inay  teU  it  surel,  now,  since  sne 
^h  rr  ^"'^-^^.djo^^g  would  hâve  made  her  give  you 
ap  but  the  fear  of  ruinf  g  you  for  life.  I  am  a  poor^oman, 
I^nrence,  a  poor  hard-working  widow,  and  need  I  .hame  to 
«)  it,  I  hâve  my  price.     Your  uncle  bought  me  off.  and  but 

Scldotf  "^  ^"'^  °^'''  "^  ^""^  "^^  '°^y  '"^'^*^  "* 

hoarsely.  «j  can't  stand  thisi  Don't  talk  of  her  tf 
you  want  me  to  keep  my  sensés.  What  is  this  of  my 
nncler  '  « 

She  sits,  vindicrive  triumph  in  her  &ce,  and  tells  him  the 
story,  exaggerating  his  uncle's  part,  extenuating  her  own.  re- 
peatuig  every  sneer,  every  threat 

-I  say  again,"  she  concludes,  "but  for  this  money  which 
povér^  alone  forced  me  to  accept,  and  the  dread  of  ruining 
S  -^  ^"""^  ^^^'  "°'  WiUy  Sheldon's,  at  this 

^A^^""^  l'f  "'  *°^  "^^  8**"''  away-done  ahnost  too 
well  she  is  afraid,  as  she  looks  in  young  Laurence's  stony. 
fixed  face  at  parting.  But  he  says  little  or  nothing_in  thesé 
deadly  white  rages  of  his  he  always  becomes  dumb.  But 
that  mght  as  fast  as  steam  can  carxy  him,  he  is  on  his  way 
to  his  Southern  home.  ' 

In  the  yeUow  blaze  of  an  August  aftemoon,  dusty  Ld 
tra^el-wom  he  reaches  it.  Unannounced,  unexpected,  he 
opens  the  door  of  his  uncle's  study  and  stands  before  him. 
Mr.  Longworth,  sitting  at  his  desk  writing,  looks  up  in  eairer 
tnd  ^ad  surprise  at  his  boy. 

"Wbatl  Larry,  lad  I  So  soon?  WeU,  sqon  or  late, 
âlways  glad  t  •  see  you.  But,  what  is  the  matter,  boy  ?  yoa 
do  not  look  wcU."  /  '  y«u 


^Jre^lîeœd  not.    His  creët8^wereli^n^w7his^^l^^ 
white,  dark  circles  were  beneath  his  eyes,  and  in   Uioie 
Meadfast  eyes  a  lire  that  boded  no  good.    Physiodl,    «] 


W 


,  <.  >Xiî<\ 


■    *S*  LONGWVRTWS  ILYL, 

''oice ,     I  wiU  «  ait  until  you  hâve  finished " 

"My  ^vriting  need  never  be  finished:  I  was  answerL 
rour  last  letter.  n.y  boy.     You  asked  fo.  'a,ore  l'^oî 

pend  hke  a  pnnce.  Lany  ;  but  I  hâve  brought  you  up  1^ 
»  pnnce,  and  I  find  no  faulL     Hère  is  the  ^eck.  you  «Te 
ready  signed."  ^  ^  "  **'*•  - 

Laurence  takes  it,  looks  at  the  amount-a  laige  one- 
then  looks  steadfastly  at  the  old  man.  ^ 

New  York.    Her  daughter  was  safely  married,  her  priée  was 
«^=Iy  pa.d.  she  had  nothing  to  fear.    She  came  andTo  dl" 
Aewhole  story.     By  stealth  and  by  treacheryyou  bou^ 
her.  you  compeUed  her  to  marry  her  daughter  to  Sheldon- 
jour  money  was  an  aU-powerful  lever,  as  you  know;  even' 
heurts  and  soûls  can  be  bought  and  paid  for  with  it.    But 
even  money  cannot  do  ail  things-<:annot  pay  for  every- 
Uung.     It  bought  Mrs.  Longworth^it  cannot  buy  me.     You 
hâve  doneme  many  and  great  service^their  memory  bas 
helped  me  to  bear  the  many  and  great  insults  you  hâve 
heaped  upon  me.    But  even/or  millionaires  there  L  a  line- 
you  hâve  gone  beyond  it.    I  retum  you  your  check  and  bid 
yougood-by.     Good-morning  !  » 

He  tears  the  slip  of  paper  deliberately  in  four  pièces,  lays 

nem  on  the  table,  and  turns  to  go.     The  old  man    tam 

froin  h.s  chair  and  holds  out  his  arms.     «  Laurence  I  "  he 

eues,  m  agony;  but  it  is  doubtful  if  that  despairing  crv 

7^^ylt  '''  '''  '°°'  ""  '''''''  ^'^^  »^-  -^  '«^ 

t  Laurence  Longworth  retumed  to  New  York,  and  b^an  «t 

^  Lcginmng.   4Ie^^a,    weuiy  two,  he  had  no  prZdo" 

•nd  the  world  was  ail  before  bim  wb^rc  to  chocne.     Jr  wv 


1^9 


<NI 


^i 


J^and  ^bUe  .o„ch  of  h„„,„,.     He  coul/d^ 

Aose  opinions  fred»  .3         '  *'"  ""=  '""■  «"«ilalBl 

»lay  Jd  Tre  ^?'„  1™^'''"'''  "^  ««ht  for  Ihan.,  ,„ 

wi.h  i  fine  .a^of  on*  iT'fir'^"""'^  ='"'<»■ 
Ihis  IH«itfonl„  Md  .rv^Ll    ^7°?  °'  *'  ^^ 

"wught  i-      Ir  w..  .         '     ™'  *"  Bayniouth  and 

n«»^.      ^fî  '^■i'''  "«y'  and  jm»  ' 


J^ewspaperr 


byan  ide»? 


Mr  O^C  •  "^  '"  Raymouth  "forgood." 


l 


^ 


•é  ** 


.#, 


'  t-!-"  t 


LONGWORTirs  tDYL, 


h«d  first  given  Longworth  a  latch-key  to  litemtnrc-Hi  c£f«^ 
bttle  man  m  his  profession,  with  a  twinkling  eye,  the  natioiu/ 
nose,  and  a  rich  accent  trought  from  the  Reeks  6f  Kerry.  to 
flavor  his  unexceptionable  English. 

It  was  during  the  first  year  of  struggle  tfaât  Longwortfc 
wrote  his  novel  and  volume  of  verses.     Both  fell  dead. 
The  novel  was  didacric,  and  dogmatic,  and  tealistic,  and  un- 
.    ;^Wy  dreary  ;  the  "poems  "  were  Byronic,  glpomy,  and 
jrapid.    Mr.  Longworth  never  tried  again-he  had  discovéred 
that  though  a  man  may  be  a  brilliànt  journalist,  a  keen  and 
dever  reporter,  a  sarcastic  .and  witty  reviewer,  some  addi 
tionalgift  isneeded  to  malEehim  a  successful  novehst  and 
P^t.     It  being  agreed  on  ail  hands,  however,  that  fiction 
whnng  is  the  very  lowest  branch.  of  the  lofty  tree  of  litera- 
ture,  he  had  the  less  reason  to  regret  this  failure,  and  the 
faJure  itself  did  him  this  good,  that  it  made  him  the  more 
•ustere  ajid  carping  critic,  your  true  critic  being  notoriously 
the  man  "  who  has  failed  in  Hterature  and  art." 

Mrs.  Longwo;Kj55th  the  raoney  that  had  been   h« 
daughter-s  price,  had  opened  a  boarding-house  in  her  native 
town.     The  editor  of  the  Phénix  became  one  of  her  boant 
ers.     How  completely  the  love-dream  of  four>ars  befor* 
had  died  out,  may  be  inferred  from  this.     He  bore  her  no 
in-yrill,he  bore  his  oncle  none,now.    Thèse  four  years  had 
bcen  a  hberal  éducation,  more  valuable  by  far  than  ail  Uiat 
had  preceded  tham.     He  blamed  himself  for  his  conduct  to 
Mg  uncle-the  o!d  man  had  acted  wrongly,  but  he  had  been 
ftJnd  of  him  and  good  to  b  rn.     He  did  not  greatly  regret  th. 
lûtf  uhentance-he  would  not  hâve  exchanged  the  past  fom 
yca»,  with  their  struggles,  and  failures,  and  tiiumphs,  fm  ' 
twice  that  mheritance. 
Nothing  would  evei  nave  induced  him  to  give  up  hia 
^reer  and  go  back  to  the  old  useless  life.  but  he^r  nl^  ^ 
tnren  if ^e  wouTd.     Mr.  Longworth,  in  wrath  deep  and  deadlf      . 
•gwwt  his  nepheir.  had  adopted  bis  sister'»  •on.  R  ink  D«, 


,&i: 


-^^  "^f^ 


■}  \ 


:t  ».     ■    .  ' 


?..  . 


Mi».  Dexter,  a  widqw,  had  lived  in  Boston,  m^m 
knew  the  boy,  and  liked  hîm      w    i.  V^^  «ndXao 


ter. 
lence 

iiM»k..  *:JP_  ..      ^'  *"°  "*"y  to  remain  «o.     M- 1-.. 


,  "«•  "»«-iinanon  fo 

•nfatMwerehismistresses 

*«  «u«j,  flaxen  h«r  and  cS  .«?  1    '  ""i*  r"  ''°"'  "* 

"./  <«he,  dou  ?    lïet^t  "  l;'*"'  "  ""  *'"■«'.  »« 
'he  low,  in.ellecmalIS?.^:^'^  riî"'  *»*  »» 

^  own  on  the  subiM.  T   '•      u        P""»""":"!  ideas  of 

.uftor  and  publisher.     VJWLtJ^'"  'IgUenled 
of  mark,  he  delîvKed  1,!^^,?;     .t         ^""  ■  "«W  a  mai, 

.g^gg^  glJiOngyorth'a  voice.  a»  ri,»  >^..-i^  v>  ^ .    . -  *V  H!<, 


■«■ït 


r^egia^e^r:;^  ^^'^^'  «  *^-'-cfii,f  lu.  li.,^^ 


rShelooked.t>i„.„onewho*wd«./ 
Tbe  pMt  wa,  ,  drca.n,  a.,J  lier  Ufe  be,».. 


C'' 


fS- 


ïC^rE  GRom 


0 


4.  •-/  '"ijp  "^ 

:  vi*  '-  '■ 

i^%iu>  sigpu    Thect 
wfth 


r  N. 

5 


■^îS-^ 


»'*. 


jtongwbrth  otiieife  it?    ^^ 

*''"  ^^^^ÎP^J^i  ^  convtÉiS^s  wffh  his  fair  kjnswo 
man,  *H*n.|à  #  "he  shied  like  1 

iwo-jrear-olg  ^«,  #  o||fe  m>  had  finished  whm 
had  Wen  go%  mjdr^^Amo/'  She  had  not  meant  kMm 
anwoma^ly,  or  go  as  far  as  she  had  gone,  but  jcalousy,  ia 
•pite  of  herself,  had  forced  it  from  her.  She  was  jealous  of 
Mine  LaridellCif  and  sitting  brooding  oyer  the  past  and.  the 
^  présent,  her  passion  had  inastered  her,  and  when  he  came  sh* 
had  laid  her  heacl  «t  his  feet,  and  seen  it—rejected. 

Aclockdown-siiàsstrikestwelvc.  Longworth  jumpi  or 
«nd  flmgs  away  the^nd  of  his  cigar. 

"Midnight  and  ^^mihg  hère  I  There  goes  the  towo 
dock  I     l'm  one  minute  and  a  half  fast'    ♦  Tis  the  witching 

^  hour  when  ehurchyar^s  ya.vr •  "    Hère  Mr.  Longworth 

jr^wns  himself,  and  winds  his  watch.     "  I  will  to  bed." 

And  as  he  goes,  the  wordfe  of  the  poem  stiU  keep  AHi 
lingle  in  his  mind  :  •        - 


"  Ayear  dindes  ni^  love  from  lore) 
Thongh  jrott  loye  now,  though  I  lovcd 

The  golf  is  deep»  but  straight  enoogh  ; 
Who  ihall  recross— who  among  aien 
Shall  cross  again  ?  '* 


ki 


==f 


iH-, 


V 


ER  XII.  ,. 

iTi;  OROUND.  ^  ., 

trth  descends  to  breakf^  next  moio 
Mfsfc-She'dtm  befbre  hinç  «aditenè" 


tf 


3ff 


*4ti 


\     """^  '"  ^"IIMMBP*»'"'     She  is  standing  in  the  Uy 
*»ndow,  malùnifalHIPouquet  from  tmong  the  roses  an^ 


f^lk. 


a.  Thecc 
ir  Iqnswo 
lied  like  i 
shedwhM 
:ant-t^ij|M 
alousjr,  m 
ealous  of 
t  and,  the 
camesha 


the  towD 
witching 
ongwortb 
d." 


t  moiD 


le  bay 
«t  an^ 


DEUCA  tW  G  ROUND 


ki 


16} 


«eianhiiM,  the  brilliant 

jrhite  wrapper,  pale  azur^ibbons,  and  pale  flaxen 
^cry  fair  picture  of  matur^l  beauty.  surely  ;  but  Long«rorth'i 
I  first  thought  as  he  looks  at  her  is  :  "  What  an  enornious  debt 

of  gramude  1  owe  my  uncle  for  that  day's  work  nine  yean 
âgo,  and  what  an  idiotie  yqung  donkey  I  must  hâve  been  to 
be  sure  I  " 

.  She  tums  qaickly.  She  hàileamed  to  know  his  step  froin 
among  ail  the  others,  and  in  six  years  of  marriage  she  had 
never  learned  to  distinguish  her  husbands.  Something  akio 
to  a  flush  of  sharae  .passes  over  her  face. 

"  Good  mbrning,  Totty,"  he  says  genially,  standing  by  her 
«de.  '  rhat  looks  suspiciously  like  a  button-hole  bouquet 
who4?lb  be  the  happy  récipient  ?  " 

"  You,  if  you  care  to  hâve  it  Larry  l  "  she  says  qu^kly. 
ând  with  a  catch  in  her  breath,  "  I  want  you  to  forget  last 
night  I  mnst  hâve  been  mad  I  think  ;  I— I  bt  my  feel- 
ings  cany  me  away.  I  do  not  know  how  to  explain  what  I 
mean "  r  .       . 

«  There  is  no  explanation  needed,  ray  dear  child,"  Long, 
worth  says  kindly,  and  with  a  certain  grave  tenderness  in  his 
.   tone.     (VVhat  man  in  his  secret  heart  does  not  respect  the 
good  taste  of  a  woraan  who  persists  in  being  in  love  with  ^^ 
him  ?)    "I  know  that  70U  were  but  a  child  in  those  days- 
I  know  that  in  inaturer  years  you  regret  the  past  for  niy  sake. 
,4^    because  I  lo«t  a  fortune,  and  in  your  womanly  self-abnegation* 
would  sacrifice  yourself  to  atone.     I  understand  it  ail,  but 
^        bebeve  me,  I  never  regret  that  loss.    Now,  if  I  am  to  hâve 

that  bouquet  you  niust  pin  it  for  me." 
^         : .  "v  "^  *•■'  gênerons,"  she  ^y^.  in  a  low  voice,'but  she 
•   bites  her  lips  as  She  says  it  with  cruel  force.     "  You  alwara 
were  generous.    Trust  me,  I  ^all  nnf  fôrget  it"    " 


^methmg  in  her  tone  makes  Longvprth  look  down  at4iei 
conously,  bat  at  that  moment  enters  unto  them  Mr.  MOet 
OSulUvari.    He  takèa  in  the  situation-the  close  proximity 


é 


'  ( 


'      ,;■• 


iiS4 


V 


DMUCATE   GROUtTD. 


Ihe  bouquc.,  che  flushed  cheeks  of  the  lady-and  make»  o 
insonctive  ste»»  backwarH      tk^       .  maces  u 

h-  can  hardly  \^X^     ^'  ^^'"^^^  ^""«^»  '-«--th. 

i  "  ^'^  '^^  Z'^""  ^^  °'^"'  O-  '  "  ^^  calls.  "  ^Vhat  took 
jlou  there  at  this  hour  ?  "  "*°* 

■  «  Nothîng  took  me  there.  I  hâve  not  been  next  oi  neai 
Uiî  office.  Sure  thaf  s  a  beautifui  Httle  posy  you' ve  1  Âk 
«nor„.ng  chief,  Upon  my  wdrd  ifs  the  UvfZC  v^ 
.re  ;  the  favorite  of  the  ladies  wherever  you  go  '  '"" 

Tôt/      "-t,"  ^""."^"^  ^^°"  "''«'  Mr.   O'Sullivan,"  say, 
Totty  quickly,  and  moving  away.     "  Ifs  Larry's  audL:it7î. 

-tX';ni; in..."^  ^'^^^  -'  '-  '  ^^^'-'  ^'^^  - 

thenL^'!,"if  ^  ^'''  ''''  ^"^"*^^'  ^"d  Ws  breakfast,  and 

"Itneverrains  but  it  pours;  upon  me  life  it's  as  true  a» 

.  preachjng,"  says  the  O'SuUivaft,  glancing  complacenTlylw" 

at  h.s  nospgay.     "  Ifs  a  J^e  young  woman  that  same  mI 

a^^h^ orhU*^^^^^  ^  -^""^  ^^^^^'  y^^  -<^  -P 

bui'ftfûrs ^nf  ^°"  "*'*"  ^^ ^^"«  *^'  •*  "«ver  ra4 

^  !?  K        .  ^'"^  *"^  °°«  «^^«  présent  you  with  a  clustef 

of  bptamcal  spécimens  this  moming  ?  ."      ^      ^""^  ^^'^^t" 

"  Not  one.     But  whose  acquaintance  do  ye  th^nk  I  nuuie 
tlus  morning,  Master  Larry.  while  you  were  rXg  i^^! 

:rr.:îe    ^^'r'    ^'^^^^^^^^^    Ifs^yoSnlf      . 
"WdîthS;-   r^""  V  ^^^'^--^yo^n.ystcrie.'. 

"Yes,faith,  an4  oh.  by  me  ^ord  ifs  the  sweet  spoken 
youn.  créature  she  is.  with  a  voicAke  sugar^a^J^Î-î 


■ffrci  of  her  oyn,  ^hat  go  throûghTëiîké 


But  w^ere?"  cries  Longworth,  too  amazed 


DEUCAFB   GROUUD. 


165 


"Ay,  spoke  fo  her,  and  more-walkèd  home  wùh  her  to 
.  her  grandmother's  door,  and  got  a  smile  at  parting.  Oh  I  b, 
^  and  that  an  angel  couldn't  beat  it  I  It's'a  beauuS 
créature  she  «,  Larry,  with  two  eyes  like  sloes,  and  teeA 
hke  raie  pearis,  and  a  laugh  like  the  music  of  the  sphères. 
Sure  you  ail  said  'twas  the  other  one.was  the  beauty  «d  tf 
rf.e  goes  beyond  Ma'amselle  Reine  it's  a  Venus  of  Ae  tot 
water  she  rfiust  be  sure  enough."  , 

tn?'?"!^'*rr°''t'°  ^''  ""'^^S^'  ftihis'chieftain  has  corne 
to  a  stand-stdl  m  the  middie  of  the  stree^gd  is  regarding 
him  with  menace  in  his  eye.  .  IWf         «"l"*"» , 

"WiU  you,  or  wiU  you  not,  tell  me  Wh^î^u  met  ijade- 
mo.selle  Landélle,and  howyou  came  toescoVt  her  Lmpl^ 
he  demands  with  ominous  calm.  ' 

I  knôw  or  I  r '''""î  "  '°^  '^'"^°*"'  ^«  -"'  ">- 
the  hUl  beyond.  And  there.  kneeling  among  the  old  women's 
petticoats,!  csp.es  the  little  darli^g  of  the  world  praying 
away  hke  the  angel  that  she  is."      m^k  *"    J'"8. 

m«7f  r  "^^^  ^^"S'^^'^h.     H^lS^rised  rather  for  , 

iTwTTk'  I"  •'''°''^  *°"«'^'  ^'^^^^  ^'"^  t»^*^  "othing  i»  more 
hkely  than  for  a  French  girl  to  get  up  at  day-dawn!  and  gç 
to  ch^ch  to  say  her  pray.rs.     «  Are  you  at  libe^ty  to  ^. 

^ouknow'?;'""""  "^J^  ^""^  •"^^'"^«^  -  church.  whethe. 
you  know  her  or  not,  O'Sullivan  ?"  | 

" I  didn't  addrcss  her.     'Twas.she  who  addiessed  nie."      1 


elbow. 
hour 


chuTch  stepg,  lighting  wy  pipe 

when  I  hears  a  voice  at  my 

dness  to  tell  -Me,  lir,  at  whà« 

Sanday  ?  '    says  this  ijttle  roic* 


■■"T' 


•W 


i66 


DELICATS  -^kJUtfD. 


r 


^» 


V     -  i^^^  ^¥  *^'"'*y'  ^°  ye  inind.    And  Jicre  Jw 
was,  the  darhng,  «rith  her  trim  little  figure,  as  light  ind  giace 
^    M^  a  fairy  s,  and  her  smiling  face,  andfàer  beautiful  b.'«ck 
eyes— —  " 

"Not  black,  oh-brown.  '  Èxquisite  brown  blcssed 
ejrw,  as  Jean  Ingelow  says.  But  proceed  my  noble  friend 
— try  taie  mterests  me." 

«I  knew  her  in  a  minute."  continues  tfe  O 'Sullivan  ; 

sure  If  I  heard  her  and  her  sister  described  oLe,  I  hâve  a 

htodred  t^ç^es.     ;At  seven.  and  fcne,  and  half-past  ten. 

if""^K  ./'^''''*?  '"*^  off  myhàt  and  taking  out  my  pipe, 
•and half-past  three  in  t^ternoon.'  « Tfek  ye.  jr,' sa^ 
*e  smihng  and  dmiplîngTnd  looking  like  tlLoddess  Flora 
or  the  fau-  Aurora.  '  Hâve  you  a  good  ch»  because  if  " 
âfonsteur  le  Curé  will  permit  it,  I  would  like  tofen  '  vl^e 
were  waH^ing  along  as  sociably  as  life  by  this  ti  J^mJ  may 
I  never  .f  she  didn't  notiqç.the  pipe  I  '  Nevern|.d  »'  ' 
«ays  she  ;  «  hâve  your  smoke*!  don't  dislike  it  in  the  2 

**  «  w^.to'"'  ^""'^  «-««^ard  her  for  her  thoughtfulness  î"^ 
.      Well  II'  says  Longworth. 

*  He  is  striding  along  with  his  hands  in  his  coal  pockets. 
b-ymg  t^  reahze  in  his  .nind's  eye  the  frigid,  the  haaghty.  tHe 
"^."^W^f^^'  Reine  tripping  along  in  ^ia, 
l^t,     smiliif  and  dîn.plin^"  by  the  O'SuUivan's  side. 

'*S^'^'^';«"|  I  ^o#^-  #-her  w^  and  there  we  walked 
àn^rflii  A         ^  '^  we  l^.«grown  in  beauty  side  by  side,      ' 

Tri  .^l"""?      "'^  "^''^  8'"^  '  ^"  ^"•'  ï'^^^     '  I  think,'  say. 
I4that<^/^C«r«_sure  his  name's  Father  McGrath, 'fô 

I     .T  ''^f^'r'"  ^"^  '^^^g'^^^d-    I  know  him  well,'  sayi^ 

^.11  be  better.  Ifs^r^d  and  happy  he'll  be  to  hâve  ye,  fo, 
I  m  told  ye're  a  fine  sîhger,  mademoiselle.'  With  that  she 
•f"!^^-  l^'**  ^^   ''""'^  "'^'J!a  >e  ?  '  says  shi.       . 


jî*  ',• 


'jmo^ 


«a«^ 


ittorayrr  OrlnaybeT^ihe  says,  looking  at  me  doubtfully 
yc  weie  at  gran<li<.aini,ia's   the   other  night,  and^ ^«l 


( 


m... 


] 


'says 


say5 


i»B»'  ■ 


OAUCAr/f.   GROVtfD^ 


16; 


•*"*'*»  ""■■»   I  »ay»  ;  '  me  and  your  grandi  namma  .lavcnl 
the  pleasure  of  each  other's  acquaintance,  but  I  know  hei 
wcîa  by  sight,  and  a  mighty  fine  old  lady  she  is.     My  name'a 
O'Sullivan,  mademoiselle,  at  your  service,'  I  says.     ♦  I  boaid 
at  Mrs.  Longworth's,  over'there  beyond,  and  l'm  assistant 
editor  of  the  Phaynix—vû3.yht  ye've  seen  it  ?     But  sure  if 
jre  haven't  ye  know  Mr.   Longworth,   the   e  iitor-in-chieC 
She  was  smiling— eyes,  lips,  Simples,  and  aU— a  minute  be 
fore,  but,  by  the  virtue  of  my  oath,  lW  every  dimple  van- 
ished  as  soon  as  I  mentioned  your  nanacT"  •  Oh,'  she  says, 
under  her  breath,  •  yes,  I  know.  '     And  she  shifted  her  ground 
in  the  twinkling  of  a  bed-post,  and  talked  of  the  choir,  and 
the  congrégation,  and  the  church,  and  M  le  Curi,  as  she 
Câlla  poor  Father  McGrath,  untU  we  got  to  her  grandmoth- 
er'g  gâte." 

"And  tiien  ?"  says  Mr.  Longworth. 

"  And  then  she  brightens  up  beautifuUy,  and  looks  up  at 
me,  ail  the  dimples  and  smiles  in  fuU  play  again  ;  and  may  I 
ûever,  if  she  hasn't  the  handsomest  pair  of  eyes— brown,  or 
black,  or  whatever  it  pleases  ye  to  caU  them— diat  ever 
bored  a  hole  through  a  man's  heart.     '  I  cant  ask  ye  in, 
■he  says,  •  as  you  tell  me  grandroamma  has  not  the  pleasure 
of  your  acquaintance,  but^m^e  we  wiil  mect  again. 
Thank  you  very  much§|M^our  information,  and  I  shalJ 
be  glad  to  know  MorMuF/f  Curé.'     And  with  that   she 
inakes  me  an  élégant  Uttle  courtesy,  and  trips  away  as  grâce- 
fui  as  ye  please.     If  if  s  true  what  they're  saying,  that  yon 
can  hâve  your  pick  and  choice,  Larry,  it's  you  that  ought  to 
be  the  happy  man  this  day.     But  ifs  ever  and  always  the 
way-^f  s  to  you  and  the  likes  of  you— men  with  hearts  of 
fce  and  heads  of  granité— thàt  such  prizes  fall,  while " 

'Qh,  stov  that  rot,  O'Sullivan  I  "  tuts  in  Longworth,  witb 


-4wrjr  ^uusual  itii|>aticnce.     " And ijefore  we  part  Iwn^Mijr 
this  :  You  are  about  the  cheekiest  beggar  it  has  ever  been  mj 
good  foi  tune  to  ineet.     The  effrontcry  of  coolly  doing  escor* 


■...A,. 


,'«•-• 
ù 


:,;,:,,,„/; 


M 


HÊUCATÊ  GkOVttlk 


dotjr  fof  a  jroang  lady  you  nevcr  saw  in  your  life  before^  «ad 
«toiagto  introduce  her  td  other  people  before  you  are  i» 
»«Wnced  to  her  yourself,  is  a  pièce  of  unblushing  impudence 
ooly  to  be  peipetrated  by  an  Irishman." 
Mr.  Longworth  goes  into  his  private  room,  and  shuts  oui 

fctoiecond^hmbang.    Mr..  OSullivan  pauses  a  moment  to 
Nigara  the  door. 

•*  May  I  never  if  he  isn't  jealous  f  »  he  says,  calmly.  «  So 
ùie%  the  ohe,  is  she,  and  not  the  beauty  ?  "  and  then  taket 
off  his  coat,  substitutes  a  duster,  and  sets  to  work.  ^ 

During  the  week  tfiat  ensues  there  is  a  press  of  work  in 
the  Phentx  offifce,  and  neither  chief  edijor  nor  sub-editor  has 
^-tone  or  opportunity  to  see  much  of  MUe.  Reine  Landelle. 
A  mnrder  trial  is  going  on  in  Baymouth.     Even  in  pretty 
peacefiil.  pastural  sea-side  towns  the  tiger  in  man  crops  out 
occasionally.     This  is  a  veiy  horrid  affair,  a  very  roraantic 
•nd  melodraraatic  aflair.      A  handsome  young  factoiy  giri 
had  shot  a  genUeman  of  wealth  and  position  un  the  veiy  eve 
of  hii  wedding-day.     The  détails  were  many,  and  thriUing, 
and  disagreeable,  and  intensely  interesting,  and  there  were 
sxtra  éditions  and  suppléments  without  number  to  satisfy 
the  feverish  demand. 

Mr.  Longworth,  deeply  bterested  in  the  case,  and  spend- 
Wg  agréât  deal  of  his  time  in  the  court-house,  becomes  in- 
visible to  hisfriends,  until  one  evening  he  drops  in  upon 
Miss  Hanott,  and  finds  there  the  Demoiselles  Landelle  and    ' 
Frank  Dcxter.     They  are  ail  grouped  together  in  the  twi- 
Hght  in  the  httle  gaiden,  and  Longworth  has  time  to  thmk 
M  he  approaches,  what  he  has  thought  so  many  rimes  before. 
how  laultlessly  lovely  Marie  Landelle  is      Her  beauty  is  su 
great  that  it  cornes  upon  the  beholder,  though  he  shall  see 
her  a  dozen  tiraes  a  day,  always  as  a  soit  of  surprise. 

"Was  Helenof  Troy  as  beautiful?  Was  the  woman  for 
-g^*^>!g!!C  Anthony  lost  Or  world  a&  peeriesa?  No^  she-wir= 


*own,  and  middle  aged  and  coarse— it  is  aot  (or  such  hk 


b( 


œ 


OMÙCATe  CKOV/TD. 


•«9 


K»?l«n.„^,<«d  b„d,  inhJan"      '**  ""  '°"« 

whence  this  moody  frown  ?    Mav  T  «1.      "^^J°"-     *^rank, 
Miss  Hariott?    Tih.!r   •   T^        ^*  "^'"^'^  •^«s'de  you, 

Windsor  , s  well,  I  hope,  Miss  Landelle  ?  -  '*     ^'^ 

I  think  grandmamma  must  alwavs  h*,  «..n  » 
M  le.  Marie  with  on*  «r  k    7-        ^         ''®"'     ""esponds 

"^mendousj-busy,"  a.y,  Longwanh;  "of  allm„ei,«„ 


170 


DMUCaTB   GROUffD 


excÈums  Marie, 


doten  peop  e  saw  her  shoot  him  ;  but  she'Il  be  stiongly  n 
commended  to  mercy.  She  killçd  him,  but  she  served  hin 
right"  *<^. 

"Dangerous  doctrine,   Laurence," .  says    Miss   Hariott. 
"  How  does  the  poor  créature  stând  it  ?" 

She  appears  half  dazed.  I  wonder  you  don't  go  to  set 
a;r,  Miss  HariotL^.  The  poor  soûl  needs  a  friand^  wOrd  ; 
it  is  hard  Unes  for  ïTèr  just  at  présent."  • 

"Go  to  see  a  murderess — Afon  Dieu^l' 
in  faint' horror. 

Longworth^ifts  his  thoughtfqj  eyes.  The  music  has  cea». 
ed,  and  the  black,  gauzy  dress  and  long,  lemon-colored  buda 
are  at  the  window.  "  . 

"Why  not?"  he  says.  ^'-^''Good-evèning,'  Mademoiselle 
Reme.  Miss  Hariott  visits  much  worse  people  thîn  poor 
lUte  Blake  every  week  of  her  life,  but  not  one  who  needçi  a 
wroman's  présence,  a  woman's  words,  more  tha^  shç.  She 
wasn't  hâtf  a  bad  giri,  although  she  shot^llin^ara.  WilI^ 
you  go,  Miss  Rester  ?     I  can  obtain  yoù  a«ferhlftncé," 

"Yes,.  I  will  go,"  Miss  Hariott  savs;  sk>W?5&jid  Long-- 
w»th  gives  her  a  grateful  |[lance.  She  has  sluudJBa  Wle  ^t 
firât  ;  thqj|fti  something  téjribly  répugnant  in  the  thought 
of  facing  ^pîirderess.  But  she  is  a  thoroughly  gpod  and 
charitable  woman,  as  Longworthicnows,  as  ail  thç-poor  peo- 
pie  of  North  Bayiiiouth  kno<  apd  when  she  does  go,  Kate 
Blake  will  hâve  found  a  comfortçf  and  a'tru^-friend.  ' 

"  VVhat.  nice,  enlivening  subjectsLènçworth  always  staifa,"' 
cries  Frank,  ironically  ;  «' for  a  deâtJx's-heaù  at  any  feast,i:Q||p-.^ 
rrtend  me  to  the  edi^or  of  the  Phénix.     I  think  ^e  mu»t  ask  ^ 
him  to  our  picnic.  Mademoiselle  Marie— if  ourspii^s  risé  to  " 
any  very  boistçroùs  degrée  of  happiness,  his  plM«ant  raw- 
head-and  bloody^bone  reràarks  will  bring  them  down^     What 
dcyougay?"  -;       ,     ;      ,    >  ",        ,  '     ' 

'XHi,  ask  \\u  Voitgairmth  by  ail  meana^'  »a>a  Miwt  -Lan 


*fi, 


<f 


délie,  «railing  gracJoi^ly^tipon  the  g^ntleinab  in, the  duML  ^ 


,       -J 


;-' 


;/,,  .■•:.'i. 


ongly  i« 
'ved  hin 

Hariott., 

0  to  sêe 

y  word  ; 

t. 
* 

i  Marie, 

as  ceas- 
ed  budi 

noiselle    • 
In  poor 
needf  a 
9.    She  V 
i.     WiU^ 

1  Long-- 

thought 
od  and 
»or  peo- 
>,  Kate 

htarfe,** 

a«t  ask\  - 
risé  to 
it  rair- 
What 


^»)ife 


\ 


t. 


DEUCkTR   GROUlfD.  .      |/j 

-  AnjrUUng  u  Baymôuth  without  Mr.  LgngwortJi  would  be 
Ihe  piay  of  Hanilet  with  the  part  of  Hamlet  left  aut.' '/ 

"Consider  yourself  invited  then,    Mr.  LongwôrtK."  sayn 
?'Mank,  gravely,  to  an  exclusive  and  recherche  picnîc  on  iht 
luormng  of  Tuesday,  the  eleventh  ,UHtant,  weather  permit 
ling,  on  Fishhawk  Island..    Thefast  sailing  and  coinmodiou, 
ytfung  steamer  "Father  of  his  countiy"  will  be  at  Stubb'» 
wharf,  precuely  at  half-past  nine,  ante-nieridian.     The   t%le 
brated  strmg  band  of  Baymôuth  is  engaged  for  the  occasion. 
and  eveiy  one  this  side  of  forty  can  trip  his  or  her  ten  light 
fantastic  toes,  from  that  hour  tiU  eight  in  the  evening      ftep.  , 
aration»  are  abeady  proceeding  on  a  scale  of  unprecedent&t 
magnificence,  and  ail  the  élite,  tiie  beauty,  and  bravery,  t^ 
skimmmgs  of  the  cream  of  society,  are  expected  to  grâce  the 
festival      To  none  of  thèse  classes,  I  am  well  aware,  can  you 
8ir.  put  forth  the  slightest  clai.»,  but  at  the  gracuniIsoliGitaticn 
of  Miss  Marfii  Landelle,  I.  sole  proprietor  andgetter  uu,  de 
by  thèse  présents  invtte  y'Du."    ' 

«Are  you  going,  Miss  Hariott?"  says  Louuworth.  "be 
cause  if  you  are  not— —  "  . 

"I  am  going,  Lanjt,  aiyd  ^U  p.x.tect  you,  or  perish  ynth 
you,  from  ihe  saœasmt  of  tHi,  mthless  boy.  Havc  you 
askedMrs-^ndsor,  l<Vank?"  ^ 

"Even  Aat  daring  deed,  madame,  hâve  I  done.     And 
she's  accepte^  toa     You  could  hâve  tïiockâdlne  down- 
yes,  and  dashed  .uy^ains  oui  with  a  fe*%r,  when  shé  sàid   ^ 
yes.     If  there's  a  bree^e,  and  there  is  tîtiely  to'be  one  at    ' 
that  hour,  there's  sure  to  be  a  comfortable  short  chop  "AiX  e 
channeV^  s^»  Frank  with  4  denroniac  chuckle.'    "  Fanci  * 
Mrs.  W'"'^-"-  :~  ~  -i.—  -L-    .     -  ~  ' 

pétra, 


^- 


1»^  V^w     •£'*.''"'^'   ****y  I  ^^h^rgc  yoir  wiih  my  rr 
firdf  U»  Mri.  Winda^,  il»,,  Uoffeiie^i  jfcall  not  liave  aî 


•^tm' 


■% 


^ 


»  { 


-^  I 


**• 


t 


tj2 


ÙELtCAtM  GKOVlfD. 


/ 


opporturJty  or  «eing  her  until  we  meet  at   the  picnfcl 
Tupsd^  you  say,  Frank?    This  i.  Saturday.  I  beUeve." 
I  bélieve  rt  is,"  says  Frank. 

"  îît^  P'««»nt  is  Saturday  night, 
W^  we'ye  tried  aU  the  week  to  be  good,  ' 

«^feiled  mostly  Çon't  forget"  the  date  in  the  absorbmg 
«^  perfect  ghouls,  you  hewspaper  men,  and  dine  and  sup 

"  s  r"  ""T  "T^  '"^^  '""^  ^-«'  ^-^  Landelle.  but 
itismy  conviction  that  the  reporter  of  a  daily  paper  Jould 
^her  commit  a  murder  himself  than  not  hâve  one  to  reTrt 

"Adieu,  ladies,"  says  Lohgworth,  rising.     He  glances  at 

t^^S'^^.GJ^"•  r^  '°°'^^  '^^^  -^  sonib'errth: 

Runt  hght.        Good-night,  Mademoiselle  Reine  " 
pi^o'         ''  ""^  "^^  ■"  ^r  ''  '^^'^'y  g°»«'  -i-ns  to  the 
The  sisters  and  Mr.  Dexter  hâve  spent  part  o"f  the  after 
noon  and  taken  tea  with  te  Hariott'     Frank  1^  in  a  so" 
ofdreamy  swoon  of  bliss;  the  night  is  warm  and  lovefy  he 

Tu  ''^!r  °".*"  ^'^°'^'  ''''''  Sr^^^  and  "«igh  and  look 
«gh  and  look,  sigh  and  look,  and  look  again,"  at  the  perfec;    ' 
&ce  above  him    to  his  hearfs   content     £ife  i     El'bm 
Pmd.se  13  regained,  to  breathe  is  bliss-Frahk  De^" 

^al^hT;  raptre"^"^"^  '  '''''  ^^  ^  ^^^  ^  ^»  -  - 
"CySullivan,"  says  Longworth,  late  that  night,  as  thev  sit 
*nd  smoke  together  in  silent  sociability  on  thf  s toon  ''Lw 
m^nytimeshaveyoûescoited  Mlle.  Reine  LandeTê  homl 
fiom  early  c^jurch  since  *jfcvednesday  week  ?  " 

Never  a  time,"  re>po^l%fr.  O'SuUivan;  ^«but  I  harn' 


..ngmg  hke  a  mav,^  la.t  Sunday.     Ye  did  well  to  teU^ 


r 


c 
t 

a 
h 
n. 

g« 

ne 
ev 
no 
pn 
«h< 
40^ 


dis 


r 


J^MUCATJi    GROUfriK  ,7j 

neard  those  ladies  anH  r  k,      u      "^P"-       ^»  "«^  h«fe 
".e  r.pe„.a„.  rep^h„^  ^.^^ '^^"Jî: '^J'  «"'  "?.  «p. 

.ndî:„f  ""tr"  '^"'^  ""^  '^^  ""«^-  ««^ 

"Upon  me  conscience   th    •  «- 

lark.,  sôinng  upTtie  iT  Tft  T^  ^'^^'  ''  ^  ^'^ 
n.uch  attcMUion  to' the  sermon   .1,  *""'  '*''"'   ''^'^  « 

goes  home  benefited      Ther  '  "^^  "^^  "^  ^^«"'^^  «^^ 

Word,  and  the  texu'':  ^fZi^IiZIT  ""'T  '"  ^'^^'^ 
no  evU-Lovc  therefore^isThl  r  iah  ^  "*"*''''^"'"  ^^rktth^ 

evening  hé  goes  to  mS  Hain      '^    ^'  ^'^  '^"•"    ^"  ^'-^ 
«or  ai^oyed  tô  find  Mlle    R       '  \"^  '*  "'"'*^'  «"'P™^» 
présence  L.  not  intei^"e  „L"".h  î'^J!^^^"-  ":„.     ï,,, 


f 


^      y  J     e  wrather .  Re.„e  has  adomed  herself  wi.b  white 


m 


DRUCATE    GROL  WD. 


y.'-f 


onei  to-night— Ihey  becoiuc  her.  And  h  is  oot  eveqr  om  Io 
whom  it  is  given  to  wear  roses. 

*^  Sun  of  the  beautifui  «ky  of  France, 

or  the  beautifol  land  of  my  birtb, 
I  ihall  see  yon  no  more,  with  the  oèean  betwtcn, 

At  the  attennost  ends  of  tb^  ewtb. 
Wbere  my  days  still  pass  in  sadness  and  lighi 

Stars  pf  the  beautiful  iky  of  France," 
ung  the  voice  in  the  dusky  gloaming  within,  and  the  pathoi 
■inks  deep  into  the  hearts  of  the  listeners,'  and  in  listenîng 
thejf  foiget  tqtalk.. 

1  The  day  of  tfte  picnic  cornes,  and,  remarkable  to  relate,  it 
does  not  rain.     The  gods  sraile  upon  Franït'^te,  there  is 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky  ;  only  the  long  '•  marè's  tails  "  that 
betoken  settled  weather,  when  the  "  Father  of  his  Country  " 
goes  snorting  and  puffing  from  his  dock.     Flags  and  stream- 
ert  float  proudly  on  the  breeze„  the  band  plays  its  best  and 
brassiest,  the  élite  hâve  raustered  strong,  and  make  a  goodly 
show  on  the  deck,     Not  rfne  has  failed  ;  there  is  ribt  a  child 
on  board,  and  only  two  matrons,  Mesdames  Windsor  and 
'  Longworth.     Miss  Ifariott,  bein^  unmarried,  does  not  count 
among  thé  elders  ;  and  Mrs.  Sheldoii,  bèirtg  young  and  prctty», 
does  hot  count  among  the  mirons,-  It  promises  to  be  a 
perfect  picnic,  and  they  go  floating  down  the  bay  amid  th«- 
cheecs  of  the  throng  on  the  shore.    Mr.  Dexter,  as  ^astei 
of  the  cérémonies,  flushed  of  face,  excited  6i  manner,  is  every 
whére  at  once,  but  chiçfly  in  the  vicinity  of  Miss  Marie  Lan 
Jelle.     Mr.  Longworth  reposés  on  a  rug  at  Miss  Hariofft 
feetand  «^uo'tes  appropriate  poetry  from  Punih^d&  bis  yoath 
fol  kmsman,  meteor-like,  flaqhes  by.         ,,         i     : 

**BiU3ow]ineéoihes,  aod  he'aayitome,    i    ,     '  <^ 

*,  'Hesay^tome,  hesays,  saysbe, 

*What  b  the'ruieof  the  roadat  fea?  '    ^  . 

V^   I  layi  to  hitn,  I  says  (tlîat's  me). 


*The  ralë^oTthe  road,  folks  seemto 
U  to  MKldenly  launi.Ii  in  eten».. 


m 


-y 

V  ■ 


4 


^    »,         V, 


J      1^ 


■y 


J>ELICAT£   Ç ROUND.  175 

"  It  is  one  of  larry's  nonsensical  days,  '  says  Miss  Harkft 
In  a  oompassioDate  and  explanatory  tone  to  Frank.  "  You 
aeed  not  be  alarmed  WUd  horses  could  not  draw  a  lutiona) 
Word  fix>m  him,  but  he  u  quite  harmless  in  thèse  pai<  syiiiM 
lam  used  to  him,  and  know  how  to  manage  hint" 

"  He  does  not  forget  hiaxharnel-hfluse  priaciptes,  though, 
Jten  m  the  terapoi||r  aberration  of  his  intellect,"  retumi 
Dexter,  with  a  look  M  disgust.  "  «  Suddenly  launched  into 
etemity  I  •  mdeed  !  Keep  him  to  yourself,  Miss  Hariott,  if 
jrou  can;  idiocy  ,is  sometimes  catching,  and  he  may  frighteB 
the  ladies."  *-      j. 

Mr.  CSullivan  and  Mlle.  Rejne,  on  two  camp^tools,  are^ 
chattmg  socially  |nd  cheerfuUy,  as  may  be  inferred^m  thc 
m  laughter  of  the  young  lady.  She  has  fraternizeJ^th  the 
descendant  of  the  Irish  Wngs  ita  a  wonderful  way.  Miss 
Landelle  is,  of  course,  sbrrounded  by  a.dozen  or  more 
«dorers.  Mesdames  Windsor  and  Longwdjth,  irfitwo  arm- 
chairs,  sit  and  convterse,  and  the  former  lady  is  everythin» 
^t  là  gracions  and%Dndesoending,  an  empresç  with  the  im- 
^al  purples  and  tiara  laid  aside.  And  the  band  plays,  and 
the  bay  ghtlers,  and  "Youth  is  dt  the  prow,  and  pleasure  at 
the  helm,"  and  it  is  a  day  long  tabe  remembered  in  the  pic- 
nician  annals  of  Baymouth. 

'An  hour  and  a  .half  brings  them  to  Fishhawk  Island     It  is 
tôt  a  pretty  name,  but  the  island  U  a  pretty  place-lai^e, 
tree^haded,  with  dini,  grtrâ  .woodlandS,  and  long,  white, 
fltstenmg  beach^  "for  whispering Jovers  made."     There  il 
•  hght-house,  and  o«e  cottage-one  onîy-the  iight-house^ 
keepci's,  and  this  makes  things  routantic    It  is  a  tiny  rot 
ttgî.  neslUng  ander  an  arm  of  the  hght-hou«ifts  aàd  the 
keeper  himself,    ^  grim,  Robinson  Crusde  brt  of  inan, 
stands  <latclijp  dieseaîry  roister^rs  land  with  dreamy  ànd 
philnuqghical  eys».     : -■  ■      -- -- -/_ ,_ 

«'An  agree4>lc  place  to  corne  and  be  a  hermit,"  sayi  a 
•^fmce  in  Reines  car;  " erery  indaeement  ^ffered-ief^t 


-*C^t 
p^j 


H 


\ 


f 


;,«-V    '       W» 


■%  ;.  |ù 


^•■'afe    '^  ■••^i^fiA-. 


-*4è 


^i^ 


176 


DSUCATE    IROUifD, 


oal  solitude,  profoutd  lonchness,  the  océan,  the  wfr.d»,  and  th- 
^     .*a-b.rds  to  accent  the  dreariness.     Let  me  help  yoû  rthi; 
M.'.ent.  mademoiselle-the  rocks  are  slippery  " 

has  not  addressed  her  before.    She  frowns  sHghtI>s  as  hf  ad 

dresses  her  now,  and  h«ps  compress;  but  as  wit^oW  p^ 

.-™de^Heca.notren,se.sheis^rcedtoLpr;^ 

"  Will  you  Btot  like  to  go  through  the  light-house  ?  "  he'in- 
»ee  a  hght-house  every  day,  and  the  prevailing  genius  of  the 

TX  usT  "  ''^'^''  '^'^^"^  "'"^°-  '•^'»  '  ^^^^ 

J.Zl'^f'^-  ™°"'^""''"  ^"'^"  '"P««»'  J^»  «=°rdiality  fairly 
turpnsing  her  mto  assenting.    A  few  days  ago  shc  laUn  hh 

heanng,  and  vowedto  hâte  him  her  whole  lifelon^;  nowst 
ur  keepmg  Aer  vow  by  taking  his  arm  and  doing  as  hé  tells  her 
^àSt""^  Hershe.ownsagin,thenrrs 

.       Mr.  Longworth  addresses  himself  to  the  moijarch  of  ail  he 
surveys  : 

"Yes^"  that  potentate  says,  "he  is  wiUin'.  Thar  ain'i 
nothm  to  see,  bat  folks  that  cornes  allers  does  want  tLeït 

speaa  ly  ladzes.  Wall,  yes,  it  ^keinder  lonesome,  172. 
now  It  s  oncommon,  and  of  a  winter's  night  when  the  wincf 

rom  the  nor-rard.  an'  makes  a  clean  sweep  of  this  yere  1 
land,  an-  the  waves  roar  right  up  a'most  over  the  pll^e  \ 
am  t  noway  cheerful.  But  he  mostly  takes  it  oue  i„  Se^p^S 
^rough  the  «nter,  and  somehow  don't  mind.     Wrerks,  mi.  ? 

•i«)i#  **  rnld,    .h,te  darkne»ç.   the   hV  it-hc.-J  k-eiv. 


DEUCATÊ'  GROVffli. 


t79 


^^7,^'^:::^'''  ^'  -•'^  ^^^^^  --»  ^^^i^g  on  ^ 

She  goes  throùgh  the  light-house  with  Longworth  and  ^b, 
mscn  Crusoe.  up.  up  tbe  spiral  stairs  to  the  very  top,,wh^ 
v^e  b.g  lan.p  sus  Ixk.  aoherub"up  aloft,"  a  Jthe  bree^ 
nearly  tears  tbe  coquettish  little  hat  off  her  head.  Th« 
down,  and  through  thé  tiny  three-roomed  cottage,  ail  at  sU« 
and  sevcns.  speaking  pathetically  in  every  L  y  chaire' 

r;fto""?  T'""''  ^°''  °^  ^^  abject  tStufeli:" 
«nks  to,  when  he  tries  housekeeping  alone  # 

"  You  ought  to  hâve  a  wife,  my  friend,"  suggests  Mf.  Lone 
wor  h,  .to  put  Aings  straight,  and  keep  yfu  coo^ny  o^ 
howhng  winter  nights."  "'"l^ny  on 

dnn-.?'^''"  tr*«^°"btfuIlyy^pBi,os6pher.  "I  keinder 
don  t  know.  Marryin',to  my.mind,  is  sutWn'  like  dyf^-^ 
man  knows  whar  he  is.  but  hedon'tknow  whar  he's  g2  to 
I  never  did  sot  much  store  hy  wiri,mi,r  folks  even  whl^w!; 
ayoung  chap,  an"  W  no  use  tiyin'  'sperimentsat  «ytT 
ohfe.  I  guess  m  suffer  right  on  as  I  be  " 
Reine  laughs-her  coldness  melts  in  spite  of  her-she  ha. 

fore      He  t^es  advantage  of  it  and  shows  her  aU  t'Ôe  prett, 
fookouts,»  and  miniature  caves,  ^nd  tiny  inlets,  and  glimp^ 

Jd  th!  ,^  ^  ^"  ^^^  '**"^  ferns/and  makes  then, 
*d  the  w.ld  roses  into  a  bouquet,  and  in  doing  it  tears  L^ 
^witi  a  .piky  branche  l.*,g  tear  frol  which  the  Wo^' 

"Oh  !"  Reine  saya,  and  turns  pale, 
■are  a  drops  oft  tbe  ferna  ?  " ~ — ^ — r'L"*' 


Wa'^Î?  °"'  hw  handkerchief.  and  she  obey.  in  allgood 
^th  ,  but  longworth'.  eye.  are  laughing  ^  he  watch«  ST 


178 


^ 


nSUCATE   GROVIfr* 


c 


*î •Tù  not  to  deep  asa  well,'  "  he  thinks,  "  ' mir  so  widt 
*"  *  **^'**  **°*'''  ^"^  ^'*  enoiigh,  'twill  serve.'  Thanka 
mademdBèUe.'  Now  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor  ,to  accepi 

my  veiy  humble  floral  oflFering " 

She  hésitâtes  a  moment,  bites  her  lip,  reddens,  but  accepts' 
They  pass  out  of  the  sylvan  twilight  into  the  sunshine  and  th« 
nudst  of  the  merry-makers. 

"  '  I  hâte  hini— I  will  hâte  hina  my  whole  life  long  !  '  Littk 
Queen,"  he  thinks,  loQking  do^wn  at  her,  "  rash  promises  are 
dangerous  things— foolish  to  make  and  hard  to  keep.    You 
shall  forgiye  me  yet  for  refasi'ng  to  rob  you  of  your  fortune." 
The  day  is  a  perfect  day,  the  -picnic  an  idéal  picnic.    The 
dmner  is  good,  the  chappagne  is  iced,  the  knives  and  forks 
hâve  not  been  forgçtten,  the  jellies  are  jellies,  not  shapeless 
masses,  the  pies  are  not  squash,  the  ham  is-firm  and  rosy 
Insa^e  beings'who  care  for  dancing  with  the  thermometer  at 
nmofy  m  the  shatle,  dance  ;  the  s^e  people  who  do  not, 
drifl  away  in  twos  and  threes,  but  moètly  in  twôS,  and  nobôdy 
knows  anything  of  the  whereabouts  of  anybody  else,  until  the 
Sun  goes  down  Uke  a  wheel  of  fire,  and  purple  ahd  crim«on, 
and  brange  and  opal,  pale  away  into  prirarose  and  drab 
rhen  thçy  drift  together  as  they  drift  asunder,  and  there  is  a 
gipsy  tea-drinking,   whileh  is  raerrier^than  ail.     iTaces  are 
flushed,  nosra  ire  sun&umed,  the  wind  comesfcpol  oflF  the 
sea,  and  pouAl-cake  and  tea  are  as  the  nectar  of  the  gods.  " 
"It  has  been  a  consumedly  hot  day,"  says  Mr.  Long 
worth,  pushmg  the  damp,  fair  hair  oflF  his  forehead.     "  M3 
tords  and  gentlemen,  you  behold  an  utterly  coUapsed  editor.  ' 
Mrs.  Windsor,  I  hope  the  thermometer  has  not.beén  toc 
many for )*u ?"  »  ^y\  ' 

ÇNo,  she  likes  heat,"  Mrs.  Windsor  repUe»,  "it  agr«ei 
mtk  h^."    Sut  she  looks  bored  as  she  says  it,  and  has 
registeied  a  mental  vow,  to  be  inveigled  to  picnic?  no  more^ 
^tuaiç  and-««oari««*î^  piemciTTind^  ptaôûfln^  WpnÎTf — 
certaio  âge,  are  mistakes.     , 


n 


' 


1 


1 


DEUCATE   GJtOVND. 


'T-- 


179' 

Reine  is  beside  her  grandraother,  but  she  hâs  throwi»  awa* 
^e  roses  and  fernà-wild  roses  are  net  long-C  flowl^s 
Marae  rechnes   beside  Mr.  Longworth  on  the  dn.    ^ind 
cented  grass  ;  she  has  been  beside  him  ail  the  afS^ooTfn  . 

fr^  le  tin    °^°'  Frank  De,,er,  and  neither  flush,  no.  ' 
freckle,  tan,  nor  slïîîbum,  spoil  her  pearl  fair-skin. 
They  re^bark.      The   moon   rising  slowly  from  ovc,  ^ 

water.  Jt  ,s  a  fuU  moon-this  picnic  has  been  arranged  with 
an  eye  to  her  quarters.  and  three-quarters,  and  she  feave,  , 
^  of  trenuilous  l.ght  behind  her.     The  band  is  at  it  agaiiT 

Ae  melody  make  the  young  people  sentimental-they  Jean 
c^r  the  s,de.and  stare  pensively  .t  the  fonner.  Re  „" 
stands  among  the  n.oon-gai=ers,  but   Marie,  who  does  noî 

•*  Comft  hefe,  Laurence,"  says  Mr^.  Windsor,  and  he  feoe. 
over  and  takes  a  seat  beside  her.  «  I  do  not  tLk  we  h^e 
exchanged  ten  words  ail  day.  What  <Jid  you  d^"^^^^^^ 
self  the  wholg  of  this  gfternopn  ?"       *    ^   "  ''^  *?"]  ^^O""^" 

She  smi,l«  as  she  s^s  it.     She  knows  verywell  who  his 
^omp.n.on  has  l?een,  aï  this  afternoon;  much  Ltt«^  than  Z 
cioes  who  was  his  companion  this  morning.  *'*'^*°^«      , 

•;/l  had  the  honor  of  poirtting  eut  to  Miss  Landellp  the 
vanouspomts  oT  nterèst  and  attraction  .bout  the  is  Ld '• 
he  answ.s.^.1  only  regret  in  n,y  character  of^Se 
they  were  -not  more  numçrous  and  more  romantic." 

Young  people  manufacture  their  own  romahce,  do  they       ^ 
not  Laurence  ?  V     She  leans  forward  and  lays  ohe  long  2 
Wnd  on  h.s  arm      .«  Haw  do  youlike  my  ^anddaûThtert^  ■  ■ 


perfect  âtwTÏptness  of  the  qc^r 
6gh  to  throw  any  man  off  guard,  but  that  m«cnit 
•«•r  betiays  its  owuer. 


C 


-j»»-^ 


■'Si* 


^. 


ito 


d&licatf:  (, round. 


"  M7  dear  Mrs  Windsor,  is  that  not  a  sotnewhat  emtNur 
rassing  question?  And  theje  can  be  but  bne  reply.  Ybtii 
granddaughters  ire  young  ladies  whose  great  attractions  thg 
whole  world  niust  admit." 

>"  I  said  granddaughter,"  retorts  Mrs.  Windaor,  with  em- 
phasis,  glancing  at  Marie.  "My  younger  granddaughtei 
certainly  has  little  claim  to  beauty  or  attraction  ofany  kind." 
"That  may  be  a  question  of  taste,"  says  Longworth, 
coolly,  and  looks  in  turn  at  the  dark,  quiet  face,  the  dark, 
«traight  brows,  the  dark,  shinîng  eyes. 

Robe  that  fig^ure  in  whjte,  he  thinks,  crown  that  dusk  brow 
•rith  a  band  of  yellow  gold,  and  she  might  stand  as  she  stand» 
now,  for  some  Oriental  princess.^ 

"  She  is  not  pretty,"  Mrs.  Windsor  says,  father  coolly  ; 
"*nd  '  think  she  has  a  bad  teniper.  But  Marie  is,  beyond 
dispute,  a  most  beautiful  girl." 
«A  most  beautiful  girl,"  the  gentleman  echoes. 
"She  is  well-bred,  her  manners  are  full  of  repose,  her  dis- 
position is  amiable.  She  will  be  a  wife  with  whom  any  man 
may  be  happy,  of  whom  any  man  may  be  proud." 

She  pauses  and  glances  at  her  again.     Longworth  bows, 
inwardly  amused. 

"  Those  facts  are  indisputable,  màdam." 
,"Have  you  thought,  Laurence,"  the  lady  goes  on,  eam- 
estly,  "  of  our  last  private  interview  before  those  girls  came 
— of  the  proposai  I  made  to  you  then,  and  which  you  so 
peremptorily  declined  ?  I  trust  you  hâve  thought  it  ovei 
lince,  and  thought  better  of  it." 

"  I  hâve  not  thought  it  over  for  one  moment,"  he  anbirer», 
promptly.  "  I  never  can  or  could  think  better  of  it  If  I 
found  it  impossible  to  do  it  then,  you  may  imagine,  having 
•een  the  young  ladies,  how  much  more  impossible  it  must  be 
now." 


'*ttl  "  therfr  «o  other  way;"  slie  aski^wifli  a  peaiBâT 

clashing  inîerests  om  )gn 


npils,  "  m  which  thèse  différent  and 


^ 


'^■r 


DJÊtUCATM  GROUND. 


ttw 


er  dis- 
y  inan      v 


Jlf*y^°^'^°°'^"^''  overpowcrs  me,  '  says  Mr.  Long 

.mdtng  face.     «I  cannot  prétend  to  misunderstand  ^oi 

«es,  there  is  one  other  way," 

"  If  both  my  granddaughters  were  plain  girls " 

"Impossible  for  Mrs.    Windsor's  granddaughters  to  be 
Uut,    puts  in  the  gentleman,  parenthetically. 

tove  m  any  way,  ,t  ,s  a  suggestion  I  would  never  dream  of 
«akmg.    But  Marie  is  more  than  usuaHy  beautif^s^e  t 

verx  much,  Laurence,  to  see  Marie  Landelle  your  wife-to 

heart/  I  hke  the  girl  better  than  I   ever  thought  to  like 

zx"^'""'^''  ^^^-«^^ofthisfLire.:?^* 

owl'ïdeed'r  ^^°<^^'-f-  your  sake  and  for  my 
«!^/^f  h'^t  .saysTM^a  slight  smUe  breaks  up  the 
gtav/of  his  attentive  face,  Hhave  thought  of  it  myself 

XldP"^^^-     «^^^-«^Xougivfmetomakîup 

"  Oh,  ail  that  is  entirely  for  y'ou  to  décide.     FiMl  b  lové 
at  your  leisure,  by  ail  means.    I  do  not  know  how  l  ml 

"  Frank  does  not  seem  to  find  it  so  at  least    I  think  he 


=^œy  point  oTview  Dexter  is  far  and  away  a  better  matcl! 
••MjhmwlcMaffbrd  todi«p«nwwith  thi*  roniidenidoa 


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Photographie 
_Scifences 
Corporation 


ti- 


'•■    **• 


23  WEST  MAIN  STMET 

WIBSTIII,N.Y.  è4SM 

(71«)  •72-4903 


'i^.j^sSrLÏM/itZ^^^^'r  aJ.4U«l^*«t.  ^^^^(^9}tA.\^^l;^^^ 


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DRLÎCATE   GROUND. 


ycs,  I  know  he  has  the  fortune  that  was  to  be  yodM.  j 
know  too  why,  and  for  whom  you  lost  it  Laurenct,  I  cai^ 
not  realize  it  She  is  pretty  in  her  way  but  unuttetabh 
uuupid  What  could  you^^éver  hâve  seen  in  Mrs.  Shel- 
don  ?"  ,  \ 

"Ahl  what?"  Longworth  laughs.  «Now  we  are  on 
dehcate  ground  indeed.  My  Cousin  Lama  was  a  veiy  pretty 
girl  at  sttteen,  and  in  those  days  my  taste  had  not  beeo 
formed.  She  threw  me-over  sensibly  enough  for  a  bettei 
fellow." 

He  lises  as  he  speaks,  tums  as  if  about  to  go,  and  pansef 
asifathoughthadstruckhim.  * 

"\ou  are  sure  there  are  no  prior  engagements?  1 
woukJn't  care  to  poach  on  another  man's*manor.  You  are 
sure  they  wiH  not  object?  It  would  be  unpleasant  for  me  to 
au  dehberately  in  love  only  to  be  a  "blighted  being  for  the 
restofmy  life." 

She  looks  at  him  quickly  to  see  if  he  is  jesting  It  ii 
■ometimes  ,difficult  for  her  to  tell  whether  her  favorite 
1»  m  jest  or  eamest  His  countenance  at  least  is  quite 
grave.  ^ 

"I  présume  so,"  she  answers  rather  haughtily;  "they 
would  hardly  come  to  me  as  they  did  corne  if  prior  attach 
mcnts  or  engagements  existed."  " 

"  And  you  will  drop  them  a  hint  of  this  little  arrargement 
It  wiU  only  be  lair  to  give  them  a  voice  in  the  matter.  you 
know."  ' 

"  Well— if  you  wish  it,  certainly,  but " 

"I  decidedly  wish  it,"  he  interrupts,  cooUy,  "a  fài|field 
•nd  no  favor  on  both  sides.  By-the-by,  you  don't  restrict 
me  to  Mademoiselle  Marie,  I  hope  ?  A  man  D*turally  l' kc« 
frecdom  of  choice,  and  as  I  told  you  before,  tastes  differ.  M 
b)r  any  chance " 

_f^*°^!2jyH»  in  unfeigned  surprise. ____^ 

^^^'^e^Hprtiiny  ffiink  oT  tfiat  imaU,  «lent,  dâik,  »Ai^ 


i 
,  i 
'  i 


-,    VJ    ,     -«.t-.«_* 


^tf^-A^^ie^  j  ,  SK'T^i^Ui.fi*^ 


>vX«4!êUU  nlAi 


DELICATE,   GROUND. 


tsj 


l 


I  should  certakây^foi  jrooi 


plain  gif!  ?    l  cannot  believe  it 
own  sake,  prefer  it  to  be  Marie- 

"  My  dear  lady,  how  are  we  to  teU  that  either  wiU  conde- 
«ccnd  to  think  of  me  twice  ?  As  to  MUe.  Reine,  I  hâve  il, 
froin  h^  own  lips,  that  she  hâtes  me,  that  she  always  intends 
to  hâte'  me,  that  she  thinks  me  insuflFerably  priggish  and 
Pecksniffian,  and  for  ail  I  know  she  may  be  right.  But  it  is 
my  whim  to  hâve  freedom  of  choicé^with  your  pennis- 
•ion." 

*  ^.  Lam-ence  Longworth,"  says  Mrs.  Windsor,  half 
Amusçd,  half  annoyed,  «my  opinion  is  that  jrou  are  laughing 
at  me  ail  this  while,  and  mean  to  hâve  nojthing  to  say  to 
«éither.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  for  the  success  of  oui 
Écheme  it  would  be  much  better  not  to  say  a  word  about  it 
Girls  are  proverbiaUy  perverse— tell  Jhem  they  are  to  do  a 
ccrtam  thing,  and  they  immediately  go  and  do  the  reverse. 
But  you  shall  please  yourself.  I  wiU  speak  to  them  if  you 
désire  it" 

"I  da  And  believe  me  I  am  more  in  eamest  than  you 
give  me  crédit  for.  Hère  comes  Mrs.  I^pgworth.  I  resign 
inherfavor."  -  ;.> 

Mane  and  Frank  pass  at  the  momené,  and  she  smiles  upon 
him.  They  both  seem  well  amused  ;  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
•poil  sport  A  little  farther  down  he  sèès  Reine,  nq  longer 
alone.  O'SuUivan  is  by  her  side,  and  Mrs.  Sheîdon,  and  a 
few  more,  and  this  group  he  leisurely  joins.  Mr.  a  Sullivan 
appears  to  hâve  the  floor,  and  is  expatiating  on  the  purity  of 
Hibemian  Imeage  and  the  desirability  of  the  capital  lettej 
"  O  "  by  way  of  a  prefix. . 

*  U's  the  équivalent  of  the  German  von  or  French  de—% 
patent  of  nobility  in  itself.  Sure  any  one  that  ever  took  the 
.trouble  to  read  Irish  history '  ^ 

"A  trouble  which  nobod)  ever  does  taice,  my  prince,' 
wjrs  tougworth.^      '        *  ~^~~ 

— ;-"knowi,"  continues  the  O'SuUivan,  "that  *0' soi 


ti^»    >^.^}    i  UVliL&iMI^^S.r  j     j 


'  X*«iii'    tk      b.t^£si 


d^-S-^^^jK^,      ■Sr         iAlî^J*  .i''     ,af      rf.*^--».        V»S 


Kf-'T- 


•->K 


-;  >• 


.j*^.. 


1S4 


DEUCATE  GROi 


•Mac    are  the  préfixes  of  ail  the  k/ngs  of  the  country  fron 
tune  iKunèmoriaL    And  there's  the  old  rhyme  bcaidet  j 

«*«B]r^ac«iidO,   . 

Ye'll  snrely  know 
tmt  Irishmen  alwaj. 
Bnt  ifthey  lack  ■-"' 
Both  O  and  Mac, 
No  Irishmen  are  thej.'  ** 

Th«  town  clocks  are  striking  ten  as  they  land,  and  ail  are 
weaiy  and  ^  to  be  home.  They  hâve  toasted  their  next 
meny  meeting  jn  claret  cup,  they  hâve  lauded  Mr.  Francii 
IJcater  to  the  heavens^  and  aung  boisterously  in  his  honor. 

"  For  he'8  a  joUy  good  feUow;. 
•.  Which  nobody  eau  denj.**    <. 


Mr.  Dte<tei« 


And  10^  a  brilliant  success  frora  first  toJjj^ 
picnic  cornes  to  an  end.  >   .  -Mm 

«It  has  been  the  happiest,  the  veiy'fi^iest  day  of  mv 
Me,  he  murraurs  to  Miss  Landelle  ^t*  parting,  and  he  m 
herhand,  as  he  says  it,  in  right  knigl^tly  fashion,  and  kisses  ÎU 

On  Reme's  table,  when  lAe  enèers  her  room,  a  letter 
hes— a  letter  in  a  man's  hand,  and  post-marked  London. 
Her  tired  face  flushes  as  she  sees  it  ;  she  tear<  it  open  and 
reads  it  eagerly,  and  kisses  with  shining  eyes  tb«  #«-dfl  «rfaiclk 
are  its  but  : 


TUMfcr 


■Ml 


r-. 


J 


*ir  u.-^^,«i 


i'Âj-^^^i^  . 


frOB 


1  are 
nez! 

or. 


tel  M 

m 

lifts 
»  it. 
:tter 
Ion. 
and 
kidi 


'^S   THE   OUEEN  WILLS» 


iSS 


CHAJPTERXIIl. 

"AS  THE    QUUN  WILL8.*» 

lEINE,"  Marie  Landelle  says,  «  did  y,a  really  enjoy 

'  the  excursion  yesterday?    I  ask  because  I  heari 

you  smging  ^Aht  mon  fils;  this  moming  as  you 

mde  your  toUet.    And  it  is  time  out  of  ^ind  since  I  live 

heard  you  smg  as  you  dressed  before." 

Mg-gownf  although  ,t  ,s  close  upon  three,  gîandmW. 

^ly  dmner  hour     Reine  stands  behind  her,  brushing  slowly 

^t^thelong,lovelyhair~herdaaytask.    She  laughs  franklj 

JZI^^^Ù"''''''"''^     ^day,wasdelightful,thc 

watersmooth^  the  Company  agreeable,  and " 

«Mr   Longworth  attentive.     Please  don't  pull,  Petite 

iîiTfttr:^."^^'^^^^^^^^^^ 

"  Not  especially  confidential.     How  shall  I  arrange  you, 
coifiuie  to^ay,  Marie  ?  BiAided  or  loose  as  usual  ?" 

«  Bnuds,  please,  and  put  in  the  finger-puffs  for  a  change   { 
yitax  did you  talk  about  ?"  * 

"  A»  if  I  couli  remember  I   What  do  people  who  meet  at 
P».|c.  al^ys  Ulk  abou.?  Only  I  ™„s.  say  ,his-M;  tl 

z^;:;:^r  "  *  ""  "  -"^  *«""  -«-  -^«4 

"Ahl" 

"l^'^^ir^  K *!■  •  •   Vo.  »u.. h,^ 


_  .  ..    ^^^  «u^aii  uy  -  An  I  '     Yoi   Diust  hava 


■«IL 


p:.. 


JéîiS^^iîm^h^i'ju. : -i.  „ 


.v'V^iV 


i86 


*AS  THE  Qi/EMN  H^ILLS." 


"But  the  other  day  justice  was  the  veiy  last  thing  yo» 
.rere  disposed  to  do  Mr.  Longworth.  Truly  now,  Petite,  it 
ail  candor  and  honesty,  do  you  reaUy  dislike  him  as  vou 
say?"  ' 

"  Am  1  in  the  habit  of  saying  what  I   do  lot  meu 
Marie? 

"Oh,  you  are  frightfully  truthfiil  I  admit,  but  rash  Judg 
ments,  Petite,  are  to  be  repented  of.  You  said  ym  hated 
Monsieur  Longwofth  for  refusirfg  to  rob  us  of-our  fortune, 
*nd  for  making  our  grandniother  let  us  conie.  Now  was 
that  just  or  reasonable,  I  àsk?  And  surely,  hearing  hi« 
praises  sung  so  assiduously  by  Miss  Hariott,  and  meeting 
him  se  frequently  there,  you  njust  be  incUned  to  err  rathei 
on  the  side  of  mercy  than  of  préjudice  by  this  time." 

Reine  looks  innoyed,  and  Marie  winces  as  her  hair  it 
imlled. 

"I  do  not  meet  him  so  yeiy  often  a^  Miss  Hariotfs. 
When  he  is  there,  they  two  talk  and  I  play.  I  do  noi 
exchange  a  dozen  words  with  him.  Hâve  I  not  told  you  he 
h^d  every  word  I  said  that  first  time  we  met  there,  when 
ï  declared  l  woiild  hâte  him  forever?  It  was  unjust  and 
unreasonable,  as  you  tell  me;  but  what  you  insinuate—that 
is  another  thing." 

"He  was  at  chuitA  last  Sunday— -I  saw  him,  Reine," 
Marie  says,  plaintively.    «  How  you  are  puIUng  my  hair." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear,  but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
nelp  it,  if  you  will  talk,"  responds  Reine,  with  décision  ;  and 
Marie  smiles  to  herself  and  gives  up  the  point 

But  when  the  red-gold  hair  is  fashionably  and  elaborately 
coiffured,  Reine  herself  returns  to  the  charge. 

"Marie,"  she  says  gravely,  'Mr.  Frank  Dexter's  att^ 
lions  are  growing  far  too  prohounced.  That  poor  boy  ig 
blling  hopelcssly  in  love." 

^**That  poor  boy,  indeed  I  One  vould  think  »hc  wm  hit 
gfWuîmotRerT    Youwe  getting  a  trick  of  yoiu  ixitai\  Wm 


1 1.  UT^sf^JâM"  ^^1^  ^S.ak'S^-^StSL  i^-u^A, 


**AS  THB  QUESN  mLlS* 


i«; 


^^^^^'    Apropos.KeincIdon'thatflike^ 

"And  I  love  her  .  It  ts  the  kindest  heart,  and  she  i.  . 
geudewoman  to  her  finger  tips.  But  we  are  speakiLc^ 
Monsieur  Frank  Dexter."  pc*iung  oi 

î  «  Yon  are,  you  mean." 

"Andjou  ought  to  put  .  stop  to  it,  Marie,  yoo  kno, 

^y^  "  "^  »"  *«  ^y  <»"•  ke  -^  »  go^i-hearted 

•Andpiu/what  hâve  I  got  to  do  withhisgood  heart? 

«»"n'!r"*'l-   "f^"' yo"  ^"»"' he  fe  in  eame,t.    Ohryo« 

oryou,  althoughyouhavenoright --"  * 

"Now,  Petite  I " 

^  *™:^l':4^^  ■'  '"'  °"  '^^'  ^  '^-'  "■"■" 

i  Jl^!  '"'"  7^"  '  *""  ''  **  <^■•>'"".beI^•'  cries  Marie 
J»™p.ng  »p  '  She  cannot  go  on  preaching  in  the  présence 
of  ^r  mjes^y  do„n.s.airs.  If  y„„  say  anler  worS,  Pedtl 
W,  I  wJl  d^p  Monsieur  Frank  and  take  np  Monsieox 

J>tefere  there:     He  cannot  hurt  you,  and  I  ara  quite  sure 
ron  cannot  hurt  hi™.    The  raan  is'as  hard  as  stir.  - 

U  »  qu,.e  évident  Mr.  Longworth  is  stiU  not  absolutMv  , 

b«nng  than  nsual  await»  a,en,  in  the  dining-room.     It  i. 
tte  fct  dme  they  hâve  »e,  ,hat  day..  Madame  has  break 
toed  mher  room.  and  so  has  Miss  Landelle.     Havc  the, 
».^«ed  fron,  the  &.ig„e  of  the  picnic  ?  .  Mane^shel^S 


lbA™<St 


B  ■•  loiBetmng  quite  out  of  the  common  (i,r  her  to  notice 


i^ju^L.-k^^ittti^a.ft^isi.Ej^''  -î:^ 


uAâth'J,^^  Cv-f    .^j»'*'  . 


188 


y 


■r^K 


-AS  THE  QUEEN  WlZJfS,^ 


hcr  younger  granddaughter  at  aU,  excert  in  the  moit  casual 
manner.  ,■ 

pmner  passes.    Marie  always  ewrts  herself  and  maket 
talk  m  her  grandmother's  présence,  and  no  Ône  can  do  it 
^ore  fluently  or  more  graccfuUy,  when  she  chooses  îo  tri 
Reine  never  diooses.     Siie  knows  Mrs.  Windsor  dislikes  hci 
andif  the  trnth  musf  be  told,  cordially  retums  that  dislike, 

EHnner  ends.  Reine  walks  to  the  open  window  and  look« 
out.  The  clear  sunshine  that  ha^  làsted  so  long  has  gone 
the  day  is  gray,  windless,  threatening  rain.  One  or  two 
large  drops  patter  and  fell  on  the  flags,  as  she  looks.  As  she 
^  itands  dreamiïy  gazing  at  the  glimpse  of  lead-colored  sky 
•een  between  the  trees,  Mrs.  Windsor  in  her  slow,  modulated 
voiçe,  speaks.  / 

"There  is  a  matter  of  some  moment  upon  which  ï  wish  to 
■peak  to  you,  young  ladies,"  she  begins  ;  «it  concems  the 
disposai  of  my  fortune.  Mademoiselle  Reine,  mày  I  daim 
the  honor  of  your  attention  ?  " 

Marie,  reclining  gracefuUy  indolent  in  ^  chair,  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  an  iUustrated  book.  pauses  and  turns  to 
her  grandmother.  Reine  c6kes  forward  a  step  or  two,  and 
■tands  leanmg  lightly  against  the  low  marble  chimney. 

"  I  told  you  on  the  evening  of  your  arrivai,"  says  Mrs.  Wind- 
«or,  «  that  I  had  made  my  wiU  and  disposed  of  ail  I  possew 
to  my  fnend,  Mr.  Longworth.  That  he  declined  the  gift  did 
not  alter  my  resolution.  But  last  night,  cbming  home  in  th, 
steamer,  he  and  I  talked  it  over,  and  a  new  idea,  in  which 
conflictmg  interests  need  no  more  clash,  has  dawned  upon  ut' 
t)Oth.  He  desu-ed  me  to  inform  you  of  it  It  is-that  one 
of  you  two  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  Longworth." 

Dead  silence,  dead  blank,  unbroken  silence.    Reine  looki 
•tunned,  absolutely  stunned.     Then  anger,  amaze,  défiance. 
flame  up,  and  flash  from  her  dark  eyes.     She  looks  at  Marie 
^  *S21Î!*  Marie Jiasgrown^â^hade  paler^  that  her  dcL 
ICitelqiM^ain^a^COmpresé,^ Kir  face  do^ 


—  I 


i-.-,' 


A 


"AS  THE  QVEEN   WILLSJ^ 


c<  ' 


189 


^ 


mA-lto^nf     ^  f ^      •  ^°"«^°^^h  "^  net  falleà  m  love 
mA-î^her  of  you,"  pursues  Mrs.  Windsor,  and  as  she  «va 

ttf.f  ""'  and  almost  pointedly  addresses  the  elder  sisj- 

wch  a  mamage  reconciles  any  claim  of  blood  you  hâve  upon 
me,  with  my  own  inclinations.  When  he  has  chosen  anH 
prepared,  ne  wiU  speak.  Is  it  necessaiy  for  meT^y  wJ 
I  désire  your  answer  to  be  ?  "  "  ^y  wnai 

Again  Reine  looks  at  Marie,  fieiy  scpm  and  w^  in  her 
fcce  passionate  rébellion  and  deBance  in  her  eyes. 

«ays  that  flaraing  glance.     But  Marie's  eyea  are  fixed  on  the 

"To  young  ladies  brought  up  on  Frend,  prindples  »  1 

ha  mMt  marked  grand  duchess manner,  "to  accept  the  hj 
b»d  chosen  for  you  mus.  présent  itself«  the  m'oLp^^  . 
and  commet  ttnng  possible.  Mr.  Longwjfe,  „eed  not X 
possesses  m  hunself  ail  that  is  likely  toi:,  .he  fancy""^^ 
fie  most  romanfc^L  He  is  handsome,  he  is  giftei  hi, 
«anner,  are  pofec.-he  wiU  be  a  hnsban'd  whom^aLy  I^; 
maybe  proud  of.  He  is  well  disposed  to  make  one  o^  y^J 
tas  wife,  tf  you  duow  no  obstocle  in  his  way.  And  duL  I 
th.nk.  educated  as  you  hâve  been,  sima.ed  as  you  ar^netoe^ 
of  you  wiU  be  insane  enongh  to  do.» 

"Ohl  this  is  shamefull  shamefUll"  Reine  gasps  undei 
her  breath  her  hands  clenching,  hey.ear.  .h™bblg'  .^Z 
«U  no.  Mane  .peak?    Why  does^h,  net  rise  „p,  »J 

listen  10  such  dégradation  as  this  I   And  he-oh  T I  said 
«U  when  I  «dd  Ihated  him ,    To  make  such  a  con,pa«  » 
ft»,  to  be  ready  to  force  one  of  us  into  manying  hL  ^ 
^he««d«uned  «o  W«i,er  ftfHm*  iri^êrW= 
He  u  ahnoM  too  despicable  for  hatred  and  eontemp.  1» 


N     PC 


^ 


ti 


I90 


**AS  THE  QUEEN   WJLi^* 


prise         How  am  I  to  interpret  this  silence?    Am  I   t« 
tnmk  tlie  proposition  does  not  strike  you  favorably  ?  « 

"Manel"  Reine  cries  out,  in  a  tone  of  concentrated 
«nger  and  scorn  ;  "  why  is  it  you  do  not  answer  ?  It  i.  fo, 
Kou  to  re,,ly  that  what  madame  wishes  is  iitterly  and  abio- 
lutely  impossible."  t^  ' 

"  Impossible  1"  Mrs.  Windsor  reA\  i„  the  tone' a  soi- 
gna might  us,  lo  an  insolent  slav^"  impossible  1  Whal 
A.  you  „,ean.?  Why  impossible  ?  It  cannot_no,  i,  can  J 
be  tha.  either  of  you  ha,  had  the  aadacity'to  corne  to  T 
already engagea?"  "c  lo  me 

ing  look.     Then  she  sits  erect,  and  turns  to  the  speaker. 
We  are  neither  of  us  engaged,  madame,"  she  says,  and 

.wt  r  "'  ""r  *"™^  ^"'  ^^^^  ^^^  ^-^  -  ^^^  -mrl 
ng  on  the  mantel  ;  "  it  is  the  suddenness  of  this  unexpected 
proposai  that  leaves  us  dumb.  I  hâve  not  been  brouSt  up 
on  French  prmciples,"  she  says,  a  touch  of  scorn  fn  heï 
voice.  «  My  mother's  daughter  was  hardly  likely  to  be,  and 
wuh  my  ather-s  example  before  me,  his  teachiHgs  on  that 
pomt  could  hardly  produce  any  very  great  effect.  ^M,  siste 
has  certamly  been,  and  I  see  no  reason  "-agaia  Marie 
glances  stead.ly  at  her^"  why  she  should  object  " 

"I,do  not  know  that  it  is  necessary  for  your  sister  to  con- 
s.der  the  nuttcr  at  alV  rCorts  madame,  in  her  iciest  voice. 
I  doubt  .f  there  is  the  slightest  likelihood  of  her  being  put 
^  the  test.  Do  I  understand  you,  then,  Miss  Lande»,  , c 
^y  onyonr  part  tJut  if  Mr.  Longworth  does  you  thchonor 
to  propose  for  you,  you  wiU  accept  at  once  ?" 

Reme  starts  up.     A  flush,  a  faint.  transient  flush,  passe, 
for  a  second  over  the  pearly  fair  face  of  Marie 


4Urou  h4ve  known  Mr.  Lônçworth  a  fortnîçht.Tîiî 


.1 


r 


/ 


~\ 


"AS   THE  QUEAM    tVILLS,*'  19, 

|jo„o„anyo„e.    A  «mplé  ye.  or  „o  wiU  suffice     1^4  U 

"ni    ^«ne  »iys,a»  ifsome  one  had  stniik  h^  ..j 

m^toth  h/  n  ,""*  ■  "'"'  °'  ^°"  antécédente  Yo» 
n  K  .  ^7  .*''  """^  ''^  *^  «"«  bcfore  yon  came 
hère  j  but  T  I  thought  either  of  you  ^ere  boundV fe!! 
eng^emen,  of  anysort,  tha.  one  shonld  instantly  leTve  ,hé 
^  th.,  house  and  return  to  the  man  to  wHom  she  belo^     î 

e^'Itr/T  r.^*"'»'^-S'"-  because  it  seeTd  in 
eyilable-if  I  fancied  either  of  you  were  bound  td  men  like 
1u.j>  you  would  „ot  remain  anothet  hour  with  me." 

.ense  toL  ff""'  '"'"  "^'i"'  """"^  ^''  *"«*'  '»  *-  "a"), 
rense  tone  of  one  m  unendurable  pain 

"  One  other  thing,"  continues  the  lady  of  the  St<4e  House 

dispen»abn!(v  If  T  ^  '''«'"^"  «°°^  taste)  thein- 
home.  Should  he  be  accepted,  however,  there  must  be  no 
reluctance,  no  playing  fast  and  loose,  „o  young  ladyUke 

.  d.ssoim,le,  and  conduct  herself  as  the  affianced  of  an  honor 
«ble  gentleman,  and  as  becomos  my  granddaughter" 

«ro"f.i/H~''"^"'"'  ""^  "»J«<i<=-Mr..  Windsor  «il. 
out  of  thf  dmmg-room  and  into  her  own 

«JÏrH''  k"T'  '"  '  "■■"°  ""'"«»  *=  "»"«•    Reine 

•  -^w  Id  shJ       ■7'"'°"'  =  "^  ™"  '=  '*'""8  <■"«  »"  <^' 
«ow,  and  she  looks  at  «  with  b.lank,  stony  eyes..    Afteri 

„  mom«^«arie  rises  a„*c«s.esidT,eTsis,S.  Œr^^^= 

•ff'ne  I  yr:K  says,  but  Reine  neither  lifts  h«  eye.  n. 


e 


< 


J 


/ 


-u*   -^sAiSt' 


f^' 


19a 


**AS   THE  QVI^EN  tVILLM'* 


responds.     Reine,  Petite,"  she  rcpeat»,  and  Uyi  ooe 

caressingly  on  her  arm.   t, 
The'hand  is  shaken  off,  quickiy,  ûercely.     •      '     ^         ' 
"  Spc^k  on,"  Reine  says,  in  a  voice  of  snppressed  paîdoD  • 

^  I  hear."' 
"Areyouangiy?»  ^      ^i  ^^ 

«  Hâve  l  any  right  to  be  ?    What  does  if  signify  if  l 'am  ? 

Am  I  the  one  whom  madame  most  insul^  ?    Am  I  the  one 

to  whom  she  spoke,?    Am  I  my  sister'a  keeper  ?    Is  she  not 

at  hberty  to  be  asL  çQwardly,  to  teU  as  niany  lies  as  she 

chooses?" 

"  Thou  art  ^giy  then,  Petite  ?  "  J5he  speaks  softly,  caresf 
ingly,  m  their  own  tongué,  no  whit  moved  by  (his  passionatc 
tirade.  '' This  is  worse  than  I  eVer  feared.  Petite,  Petite 
«rhat  are  we  todo?" 

Reine  looks  up,  her  great  dusky  eyes  afire. 

"  1  know  what  I  shall  dp.  I  shall  do  ali  I  can  to  pleaae 
M.  Longworth— ail— and  if  he  asks  me  I  wUl  many  him  1  " 

Mane  shrugs  her  shoulders.  ? 

"  And  if  he  does  me  the  honor,  as  madame  hiited.  to  fiie 
fer  me  I»'»  ^      ^ 

"  A^ain  Reine's  eyë»  flash  eut,  and  a  flush  of  red  color  darts 
across  her  lace. 

'*  Marie,  if  you  let  him  fallin  love  withVu,  if  you  Içt  him 
•  «sk  jou,  I  will  never  forgive  you  to  ray  dying  day  I  " 

"I  foresee  1  àm  to  lose  my  inheritance  in  any  case,"  says    * 
Miss  LandeUe.     «  I  lose  it  if  Mr.  Ldfegworth  sees  fit  to  se-   ' 
iCCt  me  and  I  refuse,  as  yaa  teU  me  I  must.     In  that'^case 
«Madame  ignommiousï)  turns  2be  ouL     I  lose  it  if  he  sélects 
fou,  for  then  aU  goes  to  you  as  his  wife,  and  I  am  stiU  a  ^ 
pauper.     It.would  be  better  for  me  if  I  had  stayed  in  Lon- 
doÉ."  / 

"Much  better.     I^wayssaidsc    BuMf  Monsieur  Lom- 

worth  sélects  me  1     Oh  1  Mon  Dieu  /  thoi  I  shonld  ■twrf 

Jbere^  aod  ^^axa  tudi  a  po»%ibil»ty-^a.iBi?J'^T— ^^=^ 


j 


;:^i 


[^Vâbb^îîlKSiiiài  &j4jy. 


l 


'N 


lam? 

lie  ODQ 

heoot 

as  sha    ^ 

:are8s 

'^t 

ionate 

Petite 

j^leasc 

«     1 

ml" 

.:^, 

/ 


J 


->'J  THE  QUREN  mLLS^  .  '     ,^3 

^   '  N9  »uch  dreadfiW  Dos«hJiiV«  >»  •  .  -    •     "■ 

R«n*.  «f ,   ""«/'ould  say  yes,  tomorro«rc«(.^—  ••  ' 

Mane-for  yours  alone.    W  his  fLir  of  .h  m.      '"'""' 

-  «TTie  sham.  of  T7Z    k  ^''  f"''  ^^  **  Sultan.- 
«.•fled™ieeT"°o  Afek  hetr.1    ""  ^•*'^.>  • 

ing.o*^r:^^*t7^-f;^---'r>"Ican«,„o*. 

«y«  and  bows      ni       !      •'  "^^"«'«"e  casts  down  hei 
K  he  had  ^os'nl:  o'f   r-2;""^  ^T"'  "^ '"  «"«^ 

did  not—Xine  vo  ;  V  '™       ^"'  ''^'"'  ■"=«"'  l""  «»  ^ 

B«tRei„.i"I:il"""^.".'""''"8'" 
Jiule 


Bd  litUegirl.  ^  «elf-willed,  humiluted,  morti. 


^ 


""I l"''^*W»'^**'"»*iWWiifrTitpgff|W<ffWtiWMWW«WWftpWpl^^ 


S&a^S^i^i>tÊt&a,i6AàMV,^ii£»i.ti*^ 


194 


Jta  MMÉARRASSMENT  ÛF  VeMUS. 


<i' 


I  was  tr}ing  to  be  just  to  him — ^yes,  to  bc  friendly  wiU 
him  yesterday,"  she  sobs,  vehemently,  "and  see  how  hc  te 
turns  it.  I  remained  wîth  him,  I  took  his  flowers,  1  Uied  U 
be  pleased — and  now,  this  îs  my  thanks  for  it  ail  !  " 

She  tries  to.nin  frcm  the  room,  but  Marie,  who  is  bagb 
ing,  catches,  ind  holds  her  back. 

"  He  is«a  wretch,  a  deceiyer,  anything  you  like  ;  bat  on« 
Word,  Petite.  Do  bp  more  careful,  I  beg.  You  are  so  terri 
bly  outspoken  and^controUable  in'your  fiery  tomadoes. 
You  aroused  madame's  suspicions  by  your  words  and  looks 
to-day — a  little  more  and  the  whole  horrible  truth  will  conie 
ont,  and  thën  1  "  she  breaks  ofif  with  a  gesture  of  deqpair 
*•  Mo/  will  be  dir&t  min  indeed  1  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THK   KMBARRASSMENT  OF   RICHKS. 


JISS  Hariott  was  not  a  lady  of  leisure  ;  she  led  a  very 
busy  life,  an  earnest  life,  a  useful  life,  in  the  service 
of  ail  who  needed  service.  Long  ago,  in  the  days 
of  her  youth,  she  had  known  sorrow,  and  death,  and  disap 
pointment,  deep  and  bitter  ;  in  later  years  she  had  known 
illness  and  poverty,  in  povert/s  bleakest  and  most  grindii'^ 
fonn  —indeed,  for  years,  in  the  language  of  Mr.  Mantalini 
life  had  been  nothing  but  "  one  dem'd  horrid  grind."  Thei: 
had  corne  fortune's  first  favor,  and  the  tiial  and  laboi  of  life*& 
best  years  ended,  and  affluence  began.  To  many  it  would 
not  hâve  been  affluence,  but  Hester  Hariott's  tastes  were 
■impie,  her  wants  few.  A  rich  relative  had  died,  and  amon); 
QMny  large  bequests,  had  left  a  few  thousands  to  the  patient 
^mstress  ahd^  cousin  he  îïaï  hàfdîy  évërraet    Her  owr 


vears  of  suffering  and  toil  had  left  her  with  a  very  tender  an<* 


U 


If. 


V 


» 

TBB  BMBAKRASSMEXl    OF  KtCHKS.  ijj 

piUfel  h«a.,  for  ail  „ho  ebiled  and  suffe.ej,  a„d  she  M  ,h, 

■    '  »d;^ere7a;rdr„r''''^  "-- wasve.,.„uc^.r,.L;^ 

JSs;»::t:'rfi"r"a;;^\^a"""^r"''"'  *  ^'•"  ="""•"-  -'' 
^rha„<.'..pemritïï'',7;rL^d"r:„ 

wmking  sort  of  star*»  r,n  tu^  ^  .  ^  "  """ 

6  auri  oi  stare  on  the  grated  square  of  liirht  hiVh  un 

near  the  stone  ceilinir      k'of^  m  i     ,  ^    '    ^    "P 

M<^  Knew  why  she  had  corne,  and  did  not  turn  on  her  fiercelv 

as  she  did  on  ail  oth«.r  *ri,«c4^i  ^  nerceiy, 

^-  .  gnostly  counselors  :  she  onlv  maH» 

k"  TeT""  "*""'"  "'  ^""""^"^  "''r^'  ^^  '"-^"'^, 
JWhat  bring»  you  hère?"  she  demaided  sulle™,   "«r    ' 

J  Us«d  to,"  the  giri  «id.  and  covered  he,  race  wi*  he. 

She  was  not  thinking  of  the  soeaker  ■  .  -  i.    t     ^ 
me^ories  bitterer  «han^eath  fil  ^1e"'so„L  t  ^       'I 

^..onate^  longi,      ,„,e  and  despair  f„.  the  Z^f  ha^ 

»««  ^  u  •  Hanott  sitting  sinoothinc  the  dark 

ossed  ha.r  w.th  soft,  magnetic  touch.  a„d  soothùfg  hl'  fr^^ 
Jied^nerveswith  herJûw,  lender,  pitvimr  vm^r-    .h  v^^  ^^"' 

n  C^^^''  *"  ''"  '"^^""*'  ^"  ^er  crime.  ^ 

Why  do  Ihcy  try  me  ?  "  sh^  cried.     «•  Hâve  I  «^  d«u«| 


Wi.  .'>  ««O.î'Xi-"' 


,.  ,:àl 


mm 


196  rif£  EMBAKRASSMENT  9F  RtCWBS. 

h  ?  hâve  I  not  told  them  again,  and  again,  and  again  ihw  I 
killcd  him  ?  And  I  am  not  soay  for  it— mind,  I  am  not  sonj 
—I  would  do  it  again  sooner  than  let  him  niarry  her.  He 
promised  to  marry  me— lie  swore  it.  Oh  !  he  prouiised,  he 
promised,  and  he  left  me,  and  went  to  her,  anj  the  wedding 
day  was  named,  and  I  think  I  went  mad.  I  met  him  coaiing 
out  of  her  house  and  I  shot  hinL  And  now  the  days  com* 
back  of  long  ago,  and  I  see  him  again  as  he  used  to  be»  srail 
ing  and  handsome,  and  always  kind,  until  he  alraost  seems 
standing  beside  me,  and  then  I  wake  up  and  remember  that 
he  is  dead,  and  that  I  killed  him.  But  mind— mind,  Misa 
Hariott  1  "— she  starts  up  in  bed  and  midly  tosses  back  her 
hair—"  I  would  do  it  again  ;  I  would,  I  tell  you,  sooner  than 
let  him  marry  her  !  Now  you  know  the  sort  of  sinner  I  am, 
and  you  wôn't  couvert  me,  though  youVe  a  good  woman,  and 
J  like  you  better  than  the  preachers.  But  you  won't  make 
me  sony  for,  what  l've  done,  and  you  may  go  and  leave  me 
as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  I  will  go  and  feave  you  presently,"  Miss  Hariott  answcrs, 
"but  you  will  let  me  corne  back,  won't  you,  Kate?  You 
were  a-good  girl  once,  a  giri  bright  and  full  of  promise,  and 
I  liked  you  so  well.  For  the  sake  of  our  friendship  you  will 
let  me  corne  and  visit  you  again,  will  you  not  ?  " 

*' Well,  if  you  like,"  Kate  Blake  answers,  suUenly,  but  less 
sulleuly  than  at  first.  "  I  wonder  you  care  to  come  to  such 
a  place,  and  to  such  a  wretch.  No  other  lady  would.  But 
you're  a  good  woman  ;  you  don't  help  people  with  fine  wordj  " 
only,  you  give  them  what  costs  raoney,  and  that's  what  ail 
four  preaching  people  don't  do.  Come  again  if  you  like  ;  it 
won't  be  for  long." 

"  And  I  will  promise  not  to  preach  if  I  can  help  it,"  Misa 
Hariott  says,  cheerfully.     But  though  she  does  not  preach, 
»he  kneels  Jown  for  a  moment,  and  half-whispers  one  plead 
Jrjiç  prayer  1  "Savejne,  O45od,4or4he  waters^tte^ôt» 
i!y  soull"     Sullenly,  and  turned  away,  the  giil  catches  the 


.iJiSjAkt 


:fU.. 


un  ih&t  t 
nol  s'jny 
ler.  He 
uised,  hf. 
nvedding 
u  couiing 
ays  coiaf 
be»  srail 
st  3eeiU9 
aber  that 
ind,  Misa 
back  her 
•ncr  than 
ter  I  am, 
nan,  and 
n't  make 
leave  me 

answers, 
î?  You 
dise,  and 
you  will 

but  less 
!  to  such 
[d.     But 
le  wordi  * 
what  ail 

like;  it 

t,"  Miss 

preach, 
e  plead 
œaeint»= 
ches  thc 


«.e  bUck,  désola.:  .Ù^^J.^^';^  T"  '^l  '°'"-  '» 
over,  and  over,  and  over  nnfil  I      f  J.',^''  ^^^  "-ernselvei 

.       «ading  so  absorbedly  that  mIVh      "^'  ■^'"'  '^  »  «**»«. 

"  What  !ias  the  child  mt  >    <  i?  • 

face  yon  do.  '  Friar  ,e™^:tal  '""^'-''"'  ^  »«  "y  you, 
K"Ie  moral,  has  he  „o,?  •"         "  '"^  "'«'''  »<'  '<'-=W.Hî 

Ke^"fi:;:;tttJ""^^ifr^  r^-"  -- 
^^«.ith.„u  vou,oo.L:^!_^x':r^ 

C\":;;r;:,'::,trhS'^"  ^"«'-x.  ^o^  he,  „ho . 
-;'c:r;r:s;:v::'''"-'x*eadrui.  wmthey 

He  was  a  villain-to  h«  «Z!,  «'««afng  circumstances. 
enough  i„  a  ge„e,S  wlv  !^h  '  '^*'  ^". '"'""'able  mai 
honor,  and  she  lo^d  hTm  '  ^  ,  k"""  °'  **  "■»"  "«''I 
h™  ««ne,  t.ha„  seeliXo^tH^  r"  "^î  *^  *«" 

circunistances "  '  ^'""^  ^»  ""«^w  «miUu 

;;  JJ^at  I  you  would  commit  a  murder,  toc  ?  " 
_„  •  yo>  no,  whal  I  mp^n  to  av  in    .1.1.  !  

^'.^  a„;  «'l.rr.:".^;,^:--.*r  "^ 

*-  ^^'1  uc  no  nxMc  |#(Mr 


^^v^^ 


''  l 


t^         rira  embarà^ssmext  of  ^tcsbs, 

nant  despatr.  And  as  men  are  mostly  false,  the  better  wa) 
is  not  to  love  U  ail.  Only  those  we  hold  in  our  heart  can 
ever  bieak  it." 

"  Then  how  close  a  place  Madame  Windsor  must  htld  in 
yours,  for  you  look  as  if  you  were  letting  her,  or  something 
or  somebody  kill  you  by  inches.  I.ittle  Queen,  you  look 
pale,  and  dark,  and  ill  to-day.     What  is  the  niatter  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Yellow  is  my  normal  tint  ;  if  I  look  a  trifle 
yellower  to-day  than  usual,  it  is  that  I  am  probably  a  little 
more  bilious.  I  hâve  nothing  to  do,  Mees  Hariott,  and  I 
find  that  very  hard  work.  I  think  I  must  be  your  almonei 
and  go  with  you  on  your  charitable  rounds,  two  sœurs  dt 
charité^  withôut  the  white  cornette  and  black  robe." 

"  You  could  do  nothing  better.     But  I  wish  I  knew  what 

«ras  the  especial  trouble  to-day.     You  promised  to  make  nie 

your  mother  confessor.     If  I  am,  you  must  not  begin  by  hid 

ing  your  secret  sins  and  sorrows." 

Reine  laughs. 

"  But  if  it  happens  to  be  neither  sin  nor  sorrow  ?  I  would 

like  to  tell  you,  but  theh  you  are  too  fond  of " 

*♦  Laurence  Longworth.     Speak  up,  my  dear.     Yes,  I  am 
fond  of  him.     What  has  he  donc  now  ?  " 

'*  He  has  done  nothing,  at  least  nothing  wrong.     Does  he 
ever  do  anything  wrong  ?     I  must  be  very  wicked,  I  suppose, 
by  nature,  for  do  you  know  I  ncver  liked  perfect  people 
They  are  always  pedantic  and  self-opinionated,  and  pharisai 
cal,  and  dreadfully  tiresome.     If  I  had  lived  in  the  old  Scrij» 
fural  days,  I  would  hâve  becn  bosom  frierids  with  the  publi 
cans  and  sinners." 

"  Jl'ml"  says  Miss  Hariott,  "and  this  is  the  préface  te  " 
Kuiething  about  Laurence  Longworth  !  " 

"And  in  novels,"  gpes  on  mademoiselle,  "one  alwayf 
lûtes  the  goody  hero  wlio  is  so  pragmatic,  and  high-princi 
V^^^  an^  s^-lpidly  correct  in  ail  his  doiiigs.  and  never  swervit» 


the  le4A(  little  inch  from  the  sfr.iiglu  path,  and  take  to  one'j 


/•-t 


'l 


tetter  waj 
tieart  can 

st  hcld  in 
^niething 
you  look 

k  a  trifle 
ly  a  little 
)tt,  and  I 
almoner 
sœurs  dt 

>ew  what 
niake  uie 
n  by  hid 


I  would 

es,  I  ani 

Does  he 
suppose, 
people 
pharisai 
Id  Scn'n 
le  publi 

eface  te 

alwayr 
h-princi 
âwerviîjL 
:o  one'; 


4 


ràa  £MBAtKASSMe.Vr  OF  KTCms.      '      lys 
k««  tt(e  black  sheep  »ho  i,  rackless,  and  a  spend.hrift  and 

«1,  rL'::o:^%^  -0  "''•'  "-  '■  »PP'?  «o  o» 

ii  *e'^«t'r^''  '"  ""r"'"  ^"^  °"  '^='«'  "^  ''-™» 
««  atT,      !^       /■  ""■  '°°""S  "P  "i*  ™Pa»ioned 

r«„.  '**".""  "^"^  "Wy -gain  as  I  was  in  Wn 
My  »„,  .a,  so^kmd-so  kind,  and  I  loved  her,  and  I^nc. 
•o  handsome  and  so  gay »  '-wnce 

•<Andyoulov«i^,«,    Who  is  Monsieur  Léonce?". 
"  Â^  T?^  ^^  "^' "P  "^«^  *' dusk  &ce. 

«v«  see  hère,  some  one  yoa  don't  know  and  never  wiU 
n«   I  was  .nSnitely  happy  there.  and  „ow-a„d  „owlI>  " 

?f  I' '    **  '^T  "'  ^y"^*^  «nd  au  its  pepple." 
I  lAe  you,  and  you  know  it,  and  I  can  nerer  be  înfi 

s:?;  .t  go''o„Te^?f  ' ."  ""•  '-"'  ■-  --■  -«^  -- 

„r""''i  •*?'"  '^'"  •*"*""'  ""  I  ^id  before  I  sa, 
.ga,„     wl«.  has  ail  .hi,  .o  do  „i.h  I^rence  LongLth?" 

"  Madame,  need  vou  ask  ?     n«  .  ^  ^""gwortn  f 

«ishes  one  Jt  „s  ,„  Z^ti' .  ^°  ""'  ""'  "'  P-^^a™™. 

Jl^f'  *""*  ''  ""'  '"•*  »  '*y  ««mWe  continKenar?  ] 
.h,nk  few  women  „.ight  ask  for  a  fairer  &te  than  fo  te  L 
rence  Longworth's  wife  "  man  lo  De  L»o 

JHow  _.^I,  yo„  ,ike  hin.."  says  Reine,  ga„„g  ..  ^  ^ 
^y._  How  well  he  seems  tt,  Uke  yen.      I  «onde. 


-|l»»toiM,andiaaghsàndT!luSe.. 
-"Vhy  1  ^.o  no,  Tant  i,  aa,^  him  a,y«,lf?-  suftesa 


r 


fppwp 

"V- 


100 


TBB  nthARRASsmUN  r  Of  t^CtOM. 


Mias  Hariott,  looking  straight  into  the  dark,  preti^  ej„^ 
with  a  smUe  that  puzîles  Reine.  "  My  dear,  iny  day  of  ^» 
mance  has  corne  aiwî  gone.  And  I  am  seven  yeare  olda 
than  Mr.  Longworth— I  am  thirty-nine  years  of  âge." 

"  You  do  not  look  it  j  yoa  are  handsomer  and  fresher  thaa 
icore»  of  girls  of  twenty.  Marie,  for  instance,  is  a  Josen 
jrears  older  in  heart  and  a  dozen  times  as  blasé  as  you.  And 
•even  years  is  not  so  very  much." 

But  Reine's  voice  falters  pver  the  white  lie. 

"It  is  just  twice  seven  too  mach.  Nevertheless,  Mr 
Longworth  once  aske4  me  to  marry  him.  I  hâve  no  deli- 
cacy  in  telling  you,  because  I  think  a  day  must  come  when 
I  would  teU  you  in  any  case,  and  besides,  he  #ould  not  care. 
He  never  was  in  earnest,  you  know,  he  never  really  meant 
it." 

Reine  sits  up  and  stares. 

"He  asked  you  to  marry  him,  and  never  really  meant  it 
Madame,  what  a  strange  thing  you  tell  me  I  " 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  explain,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  laugh- 
ing.  "  If  I  had  been  absurd  enough  to  say  yes,  I  would 
ftave  been  Mrs.  Longworth  to-day,  and  the  great  bugbear  of 
your  life— having  one  day  ta  ^ssume  that  title— would  never 
hâve  existed."  , 

"I  wish  you  had,"  interrupts  Reine,  with  a  sincerity  there 
is  no  doubting. 

"  But  it  was  impossible,  and  he  knew  it,  ànd  I  knew  if 
ând  the  liking  that  is  so  pleasant,  would  hâve  bèen  a  very 
galling  marriage  bond  by  now.     It  was  the  most  absurd  pro- 
posai, I  think,  that  ever  was  made.  \^ 

She  laughs  once  more,  her  clear,  fresh,  heart-whole  laughl'^^ 
The  scène  rises  before  her  as  vividly  as  if  it  had  happened 
yestcrday  instead  of  nearly  eight  years  ago.  Both  had  bot 
latcly  settled  in  Baymouth,  but  lately  got  acquainted,  but  had 
**  ^^  recognized  each  other  as  "two  soûls  with  but  asingl< 
^MW^tp^and  fraternized  on  Sie  spct     There  is  such  a  thin^ 


\, 


•MÉ*, 


■X 


V 


ay  of  «» 
an  oldei 

shcr  thaa 

a  Jocen 

m.    And 


less,  Mr 
no  deli- 
me  when 
tiot  care. 
ly  meant 


neànt  it 

tt,  laugh- 
I  would 
gbear  of 
Id  never 

ity  there 

cnew  if 
1  a  very 
urd 


pro- 


:  laugh. 
ippened 
had  bat 
but  had 
a  single 
I  athùi| 


i 


■N,. 


nu  MfÊMfAssAf£Mr  o/f  jt/e/th.       joi 

TLJ^^      ^^  """"'  •'■«y  «ère  friends,  clo«  and 

«n» ,  she  picked  hun  up  m  Jits,  and  scraps  of  poetry  and 
bM.  of  «mance,  and  curren.  g„.sip  of  ail  sorts.  hT'sZI 
h»  «en-ngs  ataos.  invariably  wW,  h„  in  Aose  da^^'^d 
P«.ple  whispered  that  it  wonid  be  a  match.    The  whis^j 

g«»  at  her  feet.  a  (ivonte  attitude  of  rest  after  a  long  dav-, 
office  work.  smoking  hi,  cigar,  listening  to  the  wind  In  tC 
rpX"olÏ"  '^^  «"-^  "'  «--  HaHot^s  ZZZ 

Ml.,  Hanott  wa^  s.tt,ng.  as  hàs  been  said,  placi4  sew 
«g-  She  was  used  to  abrupt  speeches  after  long  Jencel 
but  the  abrupmess  of  this  &irly  took  her  breath  a,.V'  H« 
rûtgtr'"""'"^     "WeU.".hegasped":*Lth;: 

thôll? /•."'*'  ''f"  '"^*"  continued  Longwo.th,  «l've 
Aou^t  of  .t  a  g<«,d  deal  lately,  and  meW  to  a^T  you  befo« 

•tness  of  thmgs  nothmg  could  be  more  appronriate     .  hT 
U«e  we  ,ere  made  for  each  other.     Our  o^ni »    di«i  w-- 

Xk       t?'""'-    ^°"  "'«■"'  '<>  "«  and  di.  in  C 
«o«th-.o  do  I.    Let  us  live  and  die  together."  ' 

«cfZerri^ri':  *""  «"^'•"  «^-«e,  to„«„, 

"Wo.  laontsee  it      It  i.  particularly  rea«.nab:e.     ih. 

1^^,"^  taier Wlfls  eiboWTcool,  bm^uitet^ 
-»*»-   ta  .ne  prove  ,.  ,o  you.     Aman,na.ri,.  ,„„^„ 


"*■•. 


^-N. 


t 


K» 


rff£  EMBAft/fASSMRJ^T  OP  BICttBS, 


tgr-îcabie  conipanion  for  life  •  could  any  companion  be  Aot» 
agreeabU  than  you  are  ?  A  inan  marries  to  find  a  heli'imce' 
— you  are  that  eminently  to  me.  Don't  know  how  1  or  thc 
Phtnix  would  get  on  without  you.  W^  like  to  be  togethcr 
we  never  tire  of  each  other,  and  I  am  uncommonly  fond  ojf 
Kou.  You  are  clever— I  couldn't  marry  a  comnionplace 
jrojing  woman"— he  winces  as  he  thinks  of  Totty— "  though 
she  were  a  very  Venus.  You  are  good,  and  I  révérence  good 
women.  You  are  handsome— couldn't  love  an  ugly  woman, 
had  she  the  wit  of  De  Staël,  the  genius  of"  George  Sand. 
And  it  would  bore  me  to  live  with  a  woman  I  didn't  love, 
rhose  are  my  principles.  Think  it  over,  Miss  Hariott,  I 
von't  hurry  you,  and  let  me  know  when  you  make  up  youi 
mind." 

And  then  Mr.  Longworth  languidly— for  it  has  been  a  hot 
day,  and  .there  has  beep  a  press  of  work— résumes  his  cigai 
and  his  position  on  the  grass,  his  hands  clasped  under  his 
liead,  and  listens  with  uplîfted,  dreaming  eyes  to  a,  Katydid 
somewhere  in  the  twilight  piping  plaintively  to  its  mate. 

Years  hâve  corne  and  gone,  and  Miss  Hariott  has  not  yet 
made  up  her  mind  toreconsider  that  very  unimpas^ioned  déc- 
laration, and  laughs  now  with  as  thorough  an  enjoyment  as 
she  did  then  while  she  relates  it  to  Mlle.  Reine.  But  Mlle. 
Reine  is  disposed  to  look  at  the  matter  seriously. 

"  1  think  Mr.  Longworth  was  right.  I  tliink  you  two  were 
made  for  each  other.  You  hâve  known  him  ail  his  life,  hâve 
you  not  ?  Tell  me  about  him— I  am  in  a  lazy,  listening 
humor  to-day,  and  even  an  enem/s  history  may  prove  inter- 
esting.  Who  is  Monsieur  Laurence  Longworth  ?  Who  is 
his  father?  Who  is  his  mother?  Has  he  a  sister  ?  Has  '- 
h«  a  brother  ?  He  looks  like  a  nian  who  may  hâve  had  • 
itoiy." 
Miss  Hiiriott  laughs. 

"Shall  we call  in  Candace  ?    She  has  been  his  biographet 
^^  "**^    Shf  tries  to  piOure  hnlvTn  i«^"*âs  «fié  «aw  him  fi^  "T 


'Àia.«frC'îî''«ïi>\'l-   .i.^  ^t'      ■'- 


TBB.  EMUAkRASSME^fT  Of  ttlCHES.  lOj 

^.-•liUle  fcllow  often,with  long,  golden  curls,  die*seJ  b 
^lack  velvet,  and  wearing  a  crimson  sash,  tall  boots  ^/ith  red 
tassels,  and  a  little  velvet  cap  with  a  golden  band.     Imagine 


:t 


U  ' 


impossible  !  »  laughs  Reine.  She  thinks  of  the  gravï 
gray  figure  m  the  felt  hat,  the  editor  in  fais  dingy  sanctiim,  ihr 
nian  old,  and  cold,  and  self-centered-lifts  shoulders  anJ 
eyebrow  despairingly,  and  laughs  once  more.  "  Oh.  impos 
Bible  I  You  describe  a  fairy  prince  in  a  burlesque,  not  thaï 
solemn  matter-of-fact  Mr.  Larry." 

«  Nevertheless  Mr.  Larry  was  a  prince  in  a  smali  wav  in 
those  days,  and  his  uncle  had  brought  him  eut  in  that  dress 
to  show  him  his  kingdom  and  his  subjects.  In  other  words 
he  had  adbpted  the  little  lad,  and  displayed  hini  to  his  admir- 
mg  servants  as  their  future  master.  And  old  Mr.  Longworth 
is  a  very  nch  man." 

"T^enhowcomesourheirtobe  a  hard-working  editor,  OUI 

butterfly  a  Caterpillar,  our  prince  to  hâve  lost  his  principality. 

and  be  hère  m  exDe  with  none  so  poor  as  to  do  him  honor  }" 

'My  dear,  the  reason  that  has  worked  ail  the  mischicf  i« 

the  whole  world,  from  the  days  of  Eve  down-a  wonian  " 

Reine  is  vividly  interested  at  once.  She  rises  on  her  el 
t)ow,  and  looks  eagerly  at  Miss  Hariott. 

"  A  woman  1  Monsieur  Longworth  in  love  I  Oh,  more 
and  moi'e  mipossible  I  The  first  might  be  imagined-thi? 
never."  ^ 

She  Ustens,  profoundly  interested  in  the  story  her  fhend 
tells.  She  may  not  like  the  man,  but  where  is  the  gîrl  ll,at 
Jjes  not  hke  a  love  stor>'?  ^  .^ 

tove     That  coId,>5autious,  calculating  manl     I  cannot  an 
derstand  it.    And  so  two  ladies-you  and  Madame  SheMo, 
nave  really  refused  him  1  " 
— "  Vo  you  likë|fc  the  TéssToFÏ 


Eeiaoii 


*  We  aU  prize  SRt  that  which  isl^st  prized  by  cHluca,' 


Iiitle  Quecn?" 


I» 


r 


^^■^%:::^s-:jr'^^*,mf^ 


•Û4 


/W*  MàfRAKflASSJlinf/l  ^^  ffKNBS, 


iponds  Mile.  Reine,  cooÙy.  "I  certainly  would  not  (i<  1 
.ked  hLn  at  ail)  like  hîm  the  less  for  the  story  you  hâve  jusl 
told.  He  was  not  then  the  bon  garçon  of  the  Sunday-school 
itory  thatihe  is  now,  and  so  I  prefer  him.  But  I  cannot  rc 
alue  it," 

No,  it  is  impossible,  either  in  the  character  of  fairy  prince, 
au  black  velvet  and  crimson  tassels,  or  as  ardent  lover  stand- 
ing upflushed  and  impassioned,  and  yielding  a  fortune  for  a 
lady-s  favor,  or  as  youthful  poet  writing  melodious  verse  or 
rortiantic  novel.     Always  before  her  there  rose  a  vision  of  a 
crowded,  jostling  deck,  exciled  people,  scampering  itffrantic 
haste  everywhere,  and  elbowing  two  friendless  girls,  and  then 
a  tall,  well-bullt  figure,  in  a  gray  business  suit,  coming  easily 
toward  them,  and  taking  possession  of  them  as  coolly  and  de- 
hberately  as  though  they  had  been  two  p^cels  left  to  be 
caUed  for.    There  was  power  certainly  in  that  tranquil  face, 
plenty  of  self  will  and  self-reliance,  and  a  certain  beauty  in 
Uie  clear,  cold,  critical  eyes.     A  élever  man  that  face  bespoke 
hun,  a  talented  lecturer,  a  successful  editor,  a  shrewd  man 
of  busmess,  with  a  steady  eye  to  the  main  chance-but  prince 
poet,  lover— Oh,  surely  neveri. 

"Long  ago,"  says  the  voice, of  Miss  Hariott,  breaking  in 
on  her  rêverie,  "  Candace  was  a  slave  on  old  James  Long- 
irarthsplace,  and  the  one  ambition  of  her  life  was  freedont 
When  Laurence  <^me  north,  and  set  up  in  \^i^  for  himself,  he 
remembered  Candace,  who  had  petted  him  in  his  boyhood. 
and  sent  her  the  money  that  purchased  her  freedom.  She 
came  hère,  he,  sent  her  to  me,  and  with  me  she  Jias  remained  ^ 
ever  since.  Now,  wait  one  moment,  and  l'Uunearth  Larrj''. 
poems."  ■' 

She  goes  into  the  house  and  retums  with  a  sîiiSll  vuLune. 
ail  blue  and  gilt."  .  ^»*"c,^ 

"  This,  Mademoiselle  Reine,  ;s  '  FaJîing  Leaves,'  by  U  T.  ' 
^^ -weJ  named,  I  am  sony  to  say,  for  it  fell  remarkably  flat 


^^Weedl    Prep««to  be  victÎMized.  for  ïa^ 


? 


f 
•^ 


ing  m 
Long.        ; 
îdoin. 
îlf,  he . 
hood, 

Shç    ^^ 
ained 
irryn       -^ 

lune, 


■     -  é 

maid.  ^  ^    "*  '^^^  ^  "»  »  «entûncnul  olÎ! 

"  Before  you  begin,"  say»  Reine,  demurdv  '  let  „.^ 
tion  that  I  see  the  ton  of  «  ^  >.  •     ''™"'***J'»     *«'  «"e  «nen 

t.  unde.4^."  '^  ^^""^  °^^°"  ^'  l 

"  That  makes  no  différence  wh^ver.     Now  lûtcn  : 

'        "     ""^'^".'"'"«fro'-theE-rdenw.lI. 

Wltù  «low-fang  «oofe  «nd  sweet .»» 

He  bows  .o  b1        *'"■;•""•«'  &ct,  Uiat,  istf,  i,  ?" 
ba,  4^  r     ^  "•"  "^^  *  »-'i   The  reade,  fro,.^ 

And  the  p»tterof  Utile  feet."» 
-  tl\ey  are  unckUed  for  '^       """''''  ""•'  "«  "  ««' 


"  'But  now  when  the  sumxner  b  de«l  and  gone 
No  firende  18  for  me,  ' 

And  I  sit  alone,  with  a  dreary  miMui. 
By  the  lonesome  wailtng  sea.'  " 


wailing  sea,  or  vou  »nfL  ^"j -"oaning  too  long  by  U,. 

*  .he  d  t:;  °i,X^^-^.  »<>  M-  Hari„„  .hu.. 


'      «*«s      goes  on  the  geiUeman.      "W«al 


t 


106 


wrong  hâve  I  ever  donc  you,  \fiss  Hariott,  thaï  you  shtml  i 
take  revénge  in  this  cold-blooded  fashion,  and.  poi«on  th« 
youthful  niind  pf  Mlle.  Reine  ?     I  had  hoped  ihere  was  nota 
côpy  of  my  youthful  rubbish  çxtant.     1  know  I  b^ught  up  *II,fi 
I  could  lay  my  hands  on/  and  made  a  bonfire  of  thein 
now,  without  provocation  on  my   part,,  whije  I  iéno 
look  upon  you  in  the  Irght  of  a  frieBtdSnjîlwell-wisHi 
fieiidishly  thrast  this  proof  of  by-gone  idiocy  in  iny  face.     In 
the  words  of  the  immortal  Peclcsniff,  hâve  I  indeed  been 
cherishing  an<oâtrich  inmy  bosom  ail  thèse  years,  thatit  turna 
and  stings  me  now ?" 

"The  versQs  are  nôt  so  bad,"  says  Miss  Hariott.  "Ra- 
ther  nonsensical,  pérhaps,  but  musical.  The  âverage  of  what 
18  called  poetry  nowadays  possesses  more  sound  than  sensé, 
more  jingle  thaBf||SÉgmerit.  Still  I  will  temper  justice  witb 
mercy,  and  inflict  np  more  of  it  on  mademoiselle  at  près 
ent." 

In  the  interval  that  has  elapscd  since  the  picnic,  Mr.  Long- 
worth  and  the  Demoiselles  Landelle  hâve  met  daily.     He  is 
eminently  a  social  man,  despite  those  long  fits  of  silence'  to 
which  he  is  subject,  and  many  hoâies  are  o^en  to  him  in  Bay- 
mouth.  Of  thèse  it  has  already  been  said  he)most  prefers  Mrsi 
VVindsor's  and  Miss  Hariott's.'  At  the  Stone  House  he  is  tol- 
erably  certain  of  sçeing  both  young  ^^illbi^yl^the  white  cot 
tage  he  may  con^^iitly  count  in  i  i|||||^|mffi(Jii[iiiii  HlÊÊÊ^ 
-ht  younger.    The  embarrassaient,  i^mnltcnhéir  situation, 
appears  to  beunfelt,  at  least,  b^Mr.  Longworth  or  her  sister. 
Hie  enters  their  présence  with  the  débonnaire  ease  that  sita 
80  naturally  upon  him,  and  converses  with  Mrs.  Windfor  on 
i^^Soks  6f  mutual  interest,  as  though  grandmamma  alone  ex- 
and  there  were  no  such  things  as  granddaughteis  in  the 
Icheme  ^prtî'eation.    Or  he  improves  his   French  uudei 
Maric's  laughing  tuition,  or  he  courteously  asks  Mlle.  Rciuc 
Jbr  Sl  long,^  and  renders  J)y  his  tact  an  awkwartl  situation  ai^ 
tiCtle  awkward  as  may  bé.     But  as  l^e  lies,  bock  in  that  fgn^ 


,1* 


k- 


BMifedÉiiteiiilaifci 


y 


■■/•■" 

ma  ÈttBMKAsàtikxr  or  sicius.  tof 
m^^,  hf,  blond  head  ,«ting  ,g,rn.r  „,  blu.~Ê«k,  M. 
F«ne  catche.  fte  «..diàst  look  with  whicif  he  «li„«TS 

^d  «he  h„u«  and  return  nb  more.    He  i,  considem.gw«î 

but  .nentable  mcumbrance  of  a  great  fortime  ;  it  fa  the  cm 
b.™..n.en.  of  richeVand  Ke  is  slo.  i„  taaking  ^p  hL'^ 

l«v*nt  hu  thinking  Ae  aie,  ae  h»  approach     She V&r  too 
proud  for  that     He  doe,  „ot  offer  to  go  wiA  her  »H^  ^ 

H.r        .  '».!>«  eyes  the  girl  bas  often  detected 

He  does  not  remove  it  until  she  i»  oùt  of  sight 

«a  1h    T"*"'''  *?°^  ■""'  «^'•"  *«"  Hari^  'remark,  ; 

atenderheart.adeverhead,apuresoiJ ' 

"And  an  uncommonly peppery  temper,"  i„terr»pte  Long. 

.j;i;fat'eT-  -■-^"-^-^'^  . 

"Ah.  butthere', ,hen.b-howmuchfaamoderateamon;L 
«d  where  «  fte  hne?  No„  I  «„  disposed  to  bé  «endly 
«th  Mlle.  Re,„e.  I,  i,  her  proper  pride  and  «lf.«U  ÏÏ 
«pel  he:  ,o  gy  from  n,e  on  every  occarion,  a.  if  l^X 
Stfamc  majetty,  homy  hoof^  md  aU  ?  -  '""«•>" 


-Thar  is  préjudice--d,e  wiU  see  it.  iiyusticc  eue  d» 
How  do  you  progrcM  with  the  lovely  Mm  ?" 


V 


-i'T 


Ëi£4v^^^^fMw:ïiatâ^K>^«ii#ii~^j' 


■  .,-ï,.v 


giir.A"'".l''"^<'ll'! 


fî 


■,'7''-- 


T^-^'"  "*'--^m^ 


ao8 


Cj 


ras  EMBARJtASSMENT  OF  RICHES, 


'*  The  lovely  Marie  is  as  angelic  of  temi-er  as  of  face  -sht 
ta  eveiything  the  heart  of  man  could  désire.^  ^f  your  li^tlc 
gipsy  favorite  were  only  half  as  amenable  to  reason- '» 

He  stops  and  stoops  to  pick  up  something,  It  lies  os 
the  grass  near  hira,  and  proves  to  be  a  photograph,  the 
photographed  face  of  a  young  and  eminently  handsomc 
man. 

"  What  celebrity  is  this,"  he  asks  ;  "*  or  is  it  for  its  mtrinjiic 
beauty  you  keep  it,  or  is  it  some  one  you  know  ?  " 

He  passes  it  to  Miss  Hariott  She  has  a  mania  for  col 
lecting  photographs,  autographs,  and  relies  of  literaiy  and 
artistic  people  ;  the  litUe  house  is  littered  with  albums  full  of 
diem. 

"  This  is  none  of  mine,"  she  answers  ;  "  it  must  belong  to 
mademoiselle." 

The  picturèd  face  cf  the  gentjeman— ^  face,  beyond 
doubt,  of  a  Frenchra&n— is,  without,  exception,  the .  most 
beautiful  Miss  Hariott  has  ever  seen.  Undemeath  tfeere  is 
written,  in  a  manly  hand  :  ,_ 

"Wholly  thine— LÉONCE." 

"  Léonce,"  Miss  Hariott  says  ;  «*a  French  name  and  a 
French  face.     Did  you  êver  see  anything  half  so  handsome  î 
Ves,  Mlle.  Reine  must  hâve  dropped  it,  pulled  it  out,  prob 
ably,  with  her  handkerchieC" 

"  Hère  she  cornes  to  claim  missing  property,"  says  Long 
worth.    t. 

As  he  speaks  Rei^e  hurries  up  the  walk,  a  little  flushe<) 
with  beat,  and  haste,  and  excitement. 

"  I  dropped  something.  Oh,  you  hâve  it  I  "  ITie  colci 
deepens  in  her  dusk  cheeks  as  she  holds  out  her  hand. 
"  Thanks."  She  pauses  a  second  and  puts  the  picture  w 
ncr  pocket.  "  It  is  my  aunfs  son,  I.éonce  Durand,"  she 
iays,  and  she  lias  her  head  as  she  says  it,  and  there  is  an  in- 
volnnouy  ring  of  défiance  in  her  tone.  T%én^elurns  onoT" 
laore  and  goe*. 


THE  EMBAKRASSMENT  OF  RICHES,  309 

tfrirr"  '"^^  ^^"'"  '^'"^  herspeakof  him  bcfort. 
«?^  n'  \':^™^'-'^^bIy  handsome  young  man." 

Wholly  thme-Léonce;  Affectionate  for  a  first  cousin  " 
"r  ^"S^^f^'  a»d  Miss  Hariott  looks  at  him  keenly  for  a 
momenL     Then  she  leams  forward  and  speaks. 

MTS.Wmdsor'sgranddaughters?"  J'      ^'^ 

He  laughs. 

"  Who  has  been  telling  you  ?  »  he  asks. 

vJI^^  "/  ''**^°*  '°  ^^^'y  °"^-^«  '^ï^o  "»n8  «wy  fcad 
ïou  mtend  to  raarry  one  of  them ?"  '  .  — ^ 

J' Being  impracticable  to  marry  both,  yes-if  she  wiU  \^^ 

She  looks  at  him  thoughtfully,  wistfuUy,  and  lonir 
.elfLrht^'^""^^"  loveP"shesays,asa.uchtph« 

h^fn'I^"  ""T  'î'  "^'*  ^™P^^^«  expression.      It  tell, 
he  nothing.     B^  the  smile  that  cornes  slowly  relieves  h^ 

do  not  wish  you  to  many  without  love-deep.  and  lasting. 
Wïd  true,  as  it  is  in  you  to  love."  «»"ng, 

"  And  as  I  WiU  if  I  many.     Without  it  I  wiU  ask  no  one. 

ters.    And  I  mean  to  ask  one  of  them.  .You  wish  me  God 
IHîed,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  With  aU  my  heart,  if  it  be  Reine." 

J'^T  "*  1^'"°'''"  ^^'^  ^*>^'  ^"^  "»«»•    "No.  I  woni 
•tay  and  meet  them.     Good-night" 

«d  M«.  Hanott  is  left  perplexed  and  provokc4,  to  ul^ 


ite^-l.. 


.  ,1^1.4.  .1  t>t,,'<>i.>tx..fi,'JÉ;:à**>.a 


•ÎO      ** SWERT  SILVER  UGHI  ÙF  TRE  MOON* 


CHAPTER   XV. 


BY  THB  SWKKT  SILVBR  LIOHT  OP    THB   MOON. 


|AYS  go  by,  weeks  go  by,  July  tomes  m  its  sp.^didtii 
to  Baymouth,  and  still  Miss  Hariott  says  to  h«^9f, 
as  she  has  saîd  from  the  first,  "  Which  is  it  tô  t(e  ?^il 
seetiis  the  most  impracdcable,  the  most  hopeless  thing  in  the 
world,  xf  Reine  is  the  one  he  wants." 

But  \/hether  or  no  Reine  is  the  one,  it  is  impossible  to  tell 
No  ODS  cantell;  not  Mrs.   Windsor/growing  anxious  but 
hiding  her  anxiety  well  ;  not   Reine,  cool  and  impassive  ; 
not  Marie,  smiling  and  serene.     The  former  young  person 
puzzl««  Hester  Hariott  nearly  as  much  as  the  gentleman — 
cold  ipathy  has  replaced  passionate  rébellion,  utter  indiffér- 
ence more  hopeless  than  active  dislike.     She  never  avoids 
hin ,  she  talks  to  him  and  of  him  quite  freely,  but  with  a 
sei  .ne  composure  that  should  be  the  most  exasperating  thing 
on  sarth  to  a  lover.     A  lover  in  no  sensé  of  the  word  doe? 
i\fr.  Longworth  appear — perhaps  the  rôle  of  sighing  swain  id 
not  consistent  with  editorial  dignity.     They  meet,  they  part, 
they  talk,  they  walk,  they  sail,  they  ride,  they  dance,  they 
laugh  together  ;  and  the  more  they  see  of  each  other  the 
(arther  off  ail  idea  of  tender  sentiment  seens.    And  yet, 
•omehow — the  wish  being  father  to  the  thought — Miss  Hari- 
ott cannot  get  it  out  of  her  head  that  Reine  is  the  one.     She 
has  learned  to  love  very  dearly  the  giri  with  the  brown,  ear- 
nest  eyes  and  thoughtful  face — there  are  timei  when^« 
doubts,  distrusts,  almost  dislikeb  Marie.  v 

The  summer  days  pass  pleasantly  in  Baymouth  ;  tiiere  tre 
peq>etuat  picni^  and  ^scunimis  by  Ismâ  and  sea,  moonSpF"^ 
lails  down  the  bay,  boating  parties,  strawberry  feidvalB,  lûw 


a^y 


¥.' 


ON. 

to  h^m(, 

ing  in  the 

>le  to  tell 
xious  but 
npassive  ; 
ig  persoo 
itleman — 
T  indiffer- 
rer  avoids 
ut  with  a 
ting  thing 
rord  doe? 
;  swain  is 
hey  part, 
nce,  they 
)ther  the 
And  yet, 
iss  Hari- 
ne.     She 
lywny  car- 
rhen 


^e 


hère  are 
ioârafipr 
rail,  and 


-smuT  s/Lrjsji  uch-:  of  the  itoo/r."     211 

Jl»  Uie  innoxious  dissipation  that  goes  .0  raake  up  Ae  gavet, 
«en  of  a  large  country  town.  Tl,e  ladies  Undelle  a.e  ta 
request  everywhci*.     Every  masculine  heart  over  fifteen  i»  A 

nuddening  ,n,partua«y  «pon  ail.     Two  proposais  ha,e  be« 
nadeand  rejected.  rejected  ve,y  gen.Iy,  bu,  so  decided"      • 
Ihwonedespamngyouth  «ad  frora  the  home  of  his  boyhood 
»d  «shed  w.th  his  anguish  upon  him  to  the  unerm».  ^ 

were  furte,  or  more  hopelessly  gone  than  pooVpntnk  Dex! 
ter.    The  middle  of  July  finds  him  stiU  lingering  in  Bav 
mc^th.  unable  .0  .ear  himself  from  the  side  of  hif  eno^I 
^s^  unable  to  pay  that  visit.  so  long  defe^ed,  to  his  s^l 
ern  home       Letters  full  of   impatience  and  expostuIlH-» 
corne  weekiy  from  his  mother,  coTm.anding,  exhortin,  ."    • 
treafnghjsreturn;  bu.  Frank  cannot  go.     Theyac"T.hU 
excuse-the  yacht  already  makingabrave  sho„in  her  i.^ 
but  love,  not  schooners,  holds  Dexter.     He  fears  his  f,  «  ,J. 
«uch  to  put .,  to  the  touch.  he  is  furiously  jealous  of  ev»y 
other  aspirant,  and  Long^rth  he  fears  ani  hâtes  witf,^ 
mtensuy  ihat  has  something  quite  fratricidal  irt  i. 

"  Longworlh,"  he  says  gloomily,  one  evening_By„nic 
gloom  and  m.san,hropy  sits  pe.manently  on   Mr.  De.ter'J 

through  Baymouth  true  ?  "  ^ 

«'What  beastly  stoiy?"  inquires  Mr.   Longworin,  laziJr 
leanmg  back  in  the  boaL  ^' 

The  cousins  are  out  in  a  beat,  Frank  is  romng,  and  it  i. 

J^r^^l'  T'"''  '''^^  '''  "°*  ^^-  'og-ther  of  Ut" 
Mr  Dexter  shunnmg  Mr.  Long,vorth  as  though  he  were  t 
walkmg  pestilence;  but  on  this  occasion  he  has  preased  foi 

Jts^pmpanjrxm  purpose  ta^ihave  itr  out-^^^^^^^m^^ 
leclm^  the  stem,  steering,  «aoking,  looking  huy,  pU«d 


..•*S!- 


213      **SIVEBT  SlLlLk  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOOtT** 

"  You  iiiust  luve  heard,"  says  Frank,  with  a  short  grzwlj 
"beastliest  scandai  I  believe  ever  was  invented.  It's  abonl 
you  and  "—Mr.  pexter  pauses  with  a  gulp,  as  if  the  wokJi 
choked  hiin--"_the  Misses  Landelle." 

"  What  abodl  me  and  the  Misses  Landelle  ?  Mind  what 
you're  about,  Baby  •;  here's  a  tug-boat  coming." 

"  They  say  that  Mrs.  Windsor  has  offered  you  yoùr  choice, 
and  the/ve  consented,  and  are  only  waiting  for  you  lo  throw 
the  handkerchiet  It's  too  diabolical.  I  can't  believe 
it  I  " 

"  Disbelieve  it,  then." 

"Butisi^true?" 

"I  told  you  to  mind  what  you  were  about  I  "  cries  Long- 
worth,    starting    up    and    holding    the   rudder  haid;    "de 
you  want  the  tug  to  run  into  us  and  send  us  to  the  bot 
tom  ?  " 

"  By  Heaven,  Longworth,  if  this  infernal  story  is  true,  I 
don't  much  care  if  she  does  1  "  passionately  extlaims  Mr. 
Dexter. 

"Don't  you,  dear  boy?  But  I  flatter  myself  l'm  of  some 
service  to  king  and  country,  and  don't  want  to  see  the  bot- 
tom  of  Baymouth  Bay  to-night,  at  least.  Now,  what  was  if 
you  were  saying  ?  Oh  I  about  the  Mesdemoiselles  LandeP.e. 
Did  you  inveigle  me  out  hère  on  the  vasty  deep  to  ask  me 
this,  Bab}  ?  " 

"  I  did.     And  I  want  an  answer.     It's  my  right,  and  I 

demand  it" 

"  Your  right,  dear  boy  ?    Don't  seem  to  see  it • 

•*Ilove  Marie  Landelle  I"  cries  Frank  with  suppressed 

passion.    '«  I  mean  to  ask  her  to  be  my  wife.     Must  I  wait 

■ntil  she  has  refused  you  f  " 

"You  think  she  will  refuse  me— when  I  ask?  " 

"I  thmk  so.     I  hope  so.     Sometimes  I  am  sure  of  it 

And  then  again—."    He  breaks  off.  and  clenches  the  oan,  _ 


umI  pnUs  fiirioualy  for  about  five  minutes.     While  the  spmf 


AT." 

ort  grswl  ; 
It's  abonl 
the  wordi 

^ind  what 

ùr  choice, 
1  to  throw 
't   belîçve 


ies  Long- 
ad,  **do 
>  the  bot 

is  true,  1 
aims  Mr. 

I  of  some 
the  bot- 
at  was  it 
lAndelîe. 
)  ask  me 

it,  and  I 


ppretsed 
st  I  wail 


re  of  it 
iie  oars^ 
he  spnn 


hu«s  Mr.  Longworth  has  b  look  after  the  rudder,  and  sUcnc. 
^^^^;^  ^t  ends,  and  PVank  rests  o.  is  ^^ 

J.^d,     P        ^  *  «°°^  ^^"°"'  ^«  "««'"'t  to  be  half  ba^ 

Î^rse'f  ^r    '""'r'    ^°"  ^^^«  ^-"  -  »«-  once 
fonr^elf,  and  gave  up  a  fortune  for  a  woman's  sake.    You're 

Z  H  '""'  T\  ''"  ^"  ^^'  ^"'  ^°«  <^««ot  hâve  forg^ttê^ 
^t  tune     You  know  hU  it  is,  and  how  I  feel.  and  I  w^° 

Ihe^J!  if  ?T/-     ^"g^ortï»  ïooks  with  kindly  glance  al 

Isayno?    You  hâve  afuUdozen  rivais." 

„^^iirton,  Morris,  Graham,  and  others,"  Frank  answeriL 

m.  JZr  «^  <"  -X  or .«.  z.„S 

;;  W.y  of  me  ?  They  „e  ail  richer  men,  younger  men  _  • 

"A  most  humiliating  suggestion.     Besides,  if  she  refosci 

Fil^  rr  n.**^  ""^  '^'^  ^^'  granîmother.  t^ 
Francis  Dexter  can  dispense  with  dowiy." 

J^h  ï!f  "  °'''^*'  question-don't  âhuffle  and  évade,  Long, 
irorthl    cnes  Fiank,  passîonately.     «  WiU  you  or  wiU^ 
notadc  Marie  LandcUetomarry  you?"     *  ^°"  " '^  ^^ 
"IwiU--not|" ^ 

**ffot  I    You  mean  that,  Lany  }  •• 

-lmeMithat,Baby.    And  I  keep  my  woni,  a.  yoo  ■., 

i       A 

■  .  ■   V  > 


A.    .,}.....■. 


^J^, 


i.  ■-' 

*Ï4     ** SWBST SÏLVRf  UGffr  OP  7ffE  MOOH» 
m 

know.     Go  in  and  win,  and  my  blessing  upon  your  virtuoili 
endeavofs." 

"Sl^ake  hands  on  thatl"  exclaims  Frank,  leaning  for 
ward,  -his  eyes  gleaming  with  dçlight.  "  Dear  old  boy,  what 
a  trurtip  you  are!  And,  ,by  George,  what  a  load  yott've 
Ufled  off  my  mind." 

They  clasp  hands,  firm  and  fast,  for  a  moment.  Dexter*! 
Éwe  is  exultant,  Longworth's  kindly,  but  a  trifle  compassion- 
«te. 

"  So  hard  hit  sus  that,  dear  boy  ?  TiWe  care,  my  Baby , 
ifs  not  safe.  Ifs  not  good  policy  even  in  a  game  of  thii 
sort  to  risk  pne's  whole  fortune  on  a  single  throw.  If  one 
wins  one  is  certainly  lich  for  life  ;  .but  if  one  loses " 

"With  you  out  of  the  race  I  fear'  nothing  »  "  cries  trium- 
phant  Frank. 

"You  think  nothing  >emains  then  but  a  quiet  Walk  over? 
Well,  I  don't  want  to  croak,  and  I  wish  you  good  luck,  but 
girls  are  kittle  cattle,  as  the  Scotch  say.  And  she's  a 
«i)quette,  Frank,  in  a  very  subdued  and  high-bred  way  1 
own,  but  still  a  coquette;  and  where  one  of  that  profession 
is  concemed,  *  you  can't  nfost  always  sometimes  tell.'  Take 
care  I  * 

"  But,  Larry,  you  must  hâve  observed  that  her  manner  to 
me  is  différent  from  her  manner  to  other  men.    She  ^oes 

wifn  me  oftener,  she  seeras  to  prefer .Oh  !  hang  it,  a  fcl- 

low  can't  tell,  but  yo;  know  what  I  mean.  Would  sho  en- 
courage aie  only  to  throw  me  over  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?     Hâve  you  ever  read  the  VVidow  Bedott  ? 

••*  Tq  «jr  why  gais  act  ao  and  «o 
Or  not,  would  be  prestimin'  ; 
#  Mebbe  to  mean  yes,  and  say  no 

^  Cornet  nateral  to  wimmin.* 

"Mlle.  Marie  seems^-as  clear  as  crystal,  limpid  as  >  «pn^y 


^rook;  but  try  Xa  ses  the  bottom,  and  maik  if  yoQ  don't 


don'i 


^'SWEETSILVER  UGHT  OF  T^f.  itOON**       t\\ 

Itod  yourself  balflled.  The  crystal  deptbs  obscure  themselvei 
lOl  m  a  monient,  and  whatever  is  bèlow  remains  hidden. 
Muu^  I  don't  say  she  has  anything  to  hide,  but  if  she  had  shc 
would  know  how  to  hide  it.  She's  a  clever  giri,  Frank,  and 
I  wouldn't  count  too  securely  on  thet:oveted  Yes  urtil— 
well,  until  it  is  actually  spoken." 

"AU  must  take  their  leap  in  the  dark,  why  should  not  I  ? 

Alt,  Larry,  if  you  don't  mean  to  propose  to  Marie— and,  by 

Jove,  how  you  can  look  at  her  and  not  madly  faU  in  love  with 

lier,  is  what  I  cannot  understand— do  you  intend  to  propose 

"  My  Baby,"  says  Mr.  Longworth,  placidly,  but  with  a  cer- 
Uin  décision  of  tone  that  the  other  understands  ;  «  as  Mr. 
Guppy  says,  «there  are  chords  in  the  human  heart,'  and  it 
IS  not  for  tall  boys  to  make  them  vibrate.  I  hâve  told  you 
I jm  not  going  to  oflFer  myself  to  Mlle.  Marie  ;  that  is  suffi- 
dent  for  you.  Now  let  us  return,  for  I  présume  you  hâve 
fimshed  with  me  for  the  présent,  and  I  am  due  at  Madame 
Windsor's." 
"  So  am  I.     Croquet,  isn't  it  ?  " 

And  then  Mr.  Dexter  résumes  his  oars,  and  with  a  face  of 
doudless  radiance  rows  to  land- 

This  same  sunny  aftemoon,  but  a  few  hours  earlier,  has 
»cen  Miss  Hariott  and  Mlle.  Reine  walking  slowly  through 
the  hot  and  dusty  streets  of  North  Baymouth,  the  din  of  the 
huge  throbbing  machinery  in  their  ears,  its  grit  and  grime  in 
their  eyes.  The  narrow  street3  in  this  part  of  the  town  lie 
baking  in  the  breezeless  beat  ;  matrons  sit  at  their  doors, 
children  in  swarms  trip  up  the  unwary  pedestrian  on  the 
«idswalks.  Reine  goes  with  Miss  Ha'iott  very  often  now, 
and  the  dark  French  face  is  nearly  as  well  known  as  La  ly 
Bountifurs  own. 

Miss  Hariott  makes  a  call  to-day  she  has  never  made  with 
Reine  before.     It  takes  hefTô  à  tall  tenement-house;  wid  up^ 
three  pairs  of  stairs,  into  a  room  tidy  and  comfortabl«,  tht 


..«-  i,^  : 


i  l6      "SIV£ET  SIL  VER  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOOK' 

ûoot  carpeted,  the  Windows  curtained,  a  caniry  singing  b 
oncdôwers  «ling  the  other.  A  girl  sits  ina  lowrockei 
■cwing,  a  veiy  old  woraan  is  kneading  biscuits  in  a  panîiy. 
The  girl  rises  with  anf  eager  smile,  and,  as  she  kirns  to  greel 
her  visitors,  Reine  sees  with  a  thrill  of  pity  that  she  is  blind 
**!  thought  you  had  forgotten  us,  Miss  Hariotl,"  the  blind 
girl  says,  brightly.  "  Grandraother  has  been  wondering  if 
you  were  gone  for  another  European  trip.  Gran,  hère  ia 
Miss  Hanott  at  lasL  You  must  excuse  her,  please  ;  she 
grows  deafer  eveiy  dày." 

"I  hâve  brought  a  friend  to  see  you,  Emily,"  says  Misi 
Hanott  takii^g  a  chair.  My  friend  Emily  Johnston,  Madc 
moiselle  Reine  Landelle." 

"Ahl  ma'amselle''-the  blind  girl  holds  out  her  hand. 
tnd  tums  sodirectlyto  Reine  that  it  almost  startles  her- 
I  am  glad  to  see  you.     I  can't  really  see  you,  you  know 
but  I  always  say  that     I  hâve  heard  of  you  so  much." 
"  Heard  of  mé  !  "  Reine  repeats. 

«  ^y»  yes,"  says  Emily,  laugbing.  «  You  go  about  with 
Miss  Hanott,  don't  you  ?  and  then  people«drop  in  and  talk 
âbout  the  French  young  lady,  with  the  pretty  foreign  ways, 
and  sweet  voice,  and  kind  words  for  every  one.  And  when 
Mr.  Longworth  cornes  lask  him  no  end  of  questions.  Bless 
you  !  we've  sat  and  chatted  about  you  by  the  hour  He 
doesn't  start  it  hiraself,  you  know,  but  he  answers  my  ques. 
tions.     And  l'ni  sure  I  hope  you'll  corne  often." 

Miss  Emily  Johnston.  hàving  lost  the  use  of  her  eyes,  h^i 
by  no  means  lost  the  use  of  her  tongue,  and  chats  away  with 
a  vivacious  volubUity  not  infrequent  in  the  blind.     She  holdi 
up  the  wurk  she  is  busy  upon— a  sheet,  Rejne  sees. 
«4   '  ^^^**  half-dozen  nearly  donc.  Miss  Hariott,"  she  say» 
**  You  inay  send  me  some  more  whenever  you  like.     Mn 
I-ongWorth  gave  me  a  dozen  handkerchiefs  to  hem  foi  hin 
^  pA«  day^jo^  I  hâve  sewing  eaough  for  the  pret«t— 


Ifa'aiDielle  Heine,  how  do  you  like  Baymouth  ?  " 


»  ■ 


^.^H  tiÀin*^  c 


.'""■' "r"""- 


Mademoiselle  an.wers  more  ai)d  more  puzzIccL     TK 

•«.  b«„,  „  y„„  ;„:  ;:i''^;:^, .?'  "•«  >-«  'w»  y.»»  *, 

<wy  of  Mr.  Long^orth  ?    What  i,  he  to  her?" 

«..  wa»  ta.,»  .or.oSs;i:s;rz  »  X 

think  of  the  two  starv,hV^         â  .       «^''""'her.  and  I 

«t  the  thought  of  the  almsJiouse  Th™  Wr  t  !  ''°'™ 

forwarf.  and  in  ti,e  most  ZuJbTx.  ^L   T""''  ''""^ 
way,  said  that  as  she  had  been  in  th/T'^  busmess-like 

nobIe.n,i„drd  biÎ.  could  1.'"^"'""  ^  '"'*^«  """'^^  ""at 
•«il  ge  or.  as  before     "  7^  ki^J  h  '^"^  """■"' 

Miss  Hariott,  i„  an   im^^Jal  "oice     ■Z""'^^'"''"  "*' 

««.X  hXl  ""'"■"'  ^^■•"^-  -"  *-  »»«  S.OPS  and 
"Or  course,"  says  Miss  HarotL  cooUv  •    «^    t 


"A 


ait      ••  SH^SSr  SI/  VSJl  UGMT  Of  TffM  MOON* 

at  honie  instead  of  at  the  office,  and  sews  for  ape  and  for  hih 
when  we  want  her.  Sîïe  is  quite  'cheerfiil  and  rcsigned,  at 
you  see,  having,  as  shc  says,  too  many  blessings  lefjt  to  '  fl) 
in  the  face  of  Providence  '  for  the  oWe  blessing  He  has  taket 
froni  her."  \^    *• 

There  is  silence  for  9^  little,  and  then  Heine  speaks  in  1 
low  and  brqken  voice.  If) 

"And  I,  with  sight  and  home  and  sisté/ëït*  répine  and 
rebel  against  the  good  God,  grieve  and  moui^  for  the  liberty 
and  the  home  and  the  friands  I  havc  lost.  Oh  !  my  friend, 
how  thankless,  how  fufl  of  ingratitude  I  am  I  To  go  through 
life  always  in*  night,  to  see  no  sun,  no  lovely  world,  no  flow- 
ers,  no  sea,  no  summêr  I  Artd  yet  to  kiss  the  hand  thaï 
■trikes."  y 

"Do  you  know  Mrs.  Brownhig'* - poem,  Reine?"  says 
Miss  Hariott  "  There  is  pne  verse  I  like  to  think  ovei, 
when  the  past,  with  ail  its  losses  and  crosses»  Èomes  back 
tome: 

**  *  I  bien  Thee  v^iile  my  dftys  ga  on, 
I  thvik  Thee  while  mj  days  gt>  on  ; 
Through  dark  and  death,  thro'  fire  and  froit, 
With  emptied  arms  and  treasnre  lo«t, 
I  bien  Thee  while  my  days  go  on.*  " 

They  go  home  through  the  sunset  ahnost  in  nlence.  At 
Miss  Hariott's  gâte  they  part. 

"  Are  you  coming  to-night  ?  "  Reine  asks. 

"  To  the  croquet-party  ?  Of  course  not,  child.  The  idea 
«f  playing  with  little  red  and  white  balls  at  my  time  of  life  ! 
No,  I  expect  a  friend  or  two  this  evening.  If  you  see  Frank 
Dexter,  tell  him  I  want  him  to  come  and  see  me  to-morrow 
without  fail.  The  lad  goes  moping  about  no  more  like  him 
self  than  I  am  like  a  statue  of  Niobe.  I  dou't  know  what'i 
come  to  him— yes  I  d^,  too,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  rubbing 
JtetJiiç?  inAjvcxed  wa^V  "ard  1  like  tlie  boy,  and  il  woniei^ 
iUf  mother  wantf  him.    I  had  a  lettor  from  her  tonUy 


•  \ 


r - 


*\ 


V. 


'\ 


ine  anil 
î  liberty 
r  friend, 
through 
lo  âow- 
nd  that    i" 


'\ 


V. 


"  and  Hère  you  are  d„s,v  J^        ^°  *?"'  ''"'"'''  ^=  «rv 
How  ca,  ^„  fa»;;  SntlCT  ^1  "''r  ""  ="  "^"^'^ 

.  "»P™»S«  your  Ane  and  your  temL  hv.    •     'T'""'' 
»ure  yon  and  Mbs  Hariott  ml  b„7!^    '     "^"*  '    '  ""    ' 
Wly  wi*  your  perpétua?  ^"t"      W^ '"'  T'  "''*'"  *'«>• 
«■-Perite,  and  Jsred  r^in  Zr  b^"  "•'"'"'  '"-"?""• 

You  look  as  if  the  iurvZw  <•  ^  '^''^'  '°<«<:'menrt 

done-for  I  «e  aMr^onl  ^°"'"'  "  '"«=  "»•    ^hat  hâve  I 

«n-.i„ffic,a",„„  pTacbLVr  ''"    '^'  "  ""^  >■"" 
Poor  me  in  peace  "  ^       ^°"  penaoners  and  leave 

'  TUt  poor  Monsieur  Frank  I    Tf  i,.  i        i 
discuffl  him  he  surel,  would^.  fl  J    I     '"  '"'"'  «^«°  *» 
you  .gain  «,d  «JnTha   ido      r  ".  .""'"  '  "«'  '« 
W.  fiOBng  i«  loXth  ml    "'^  """«"S  '  bu.  I  cannot  help 

"Ihave,  I  do,  I  alw.;.,  wilV  Reine  crie,  i^sdon...^ 


-v.'*'' 


-+ 


.  "  Marie,  Marie,  this  is  worse  than  thoughtleàs.  He  was  M 
kind,  and  Tlike  him  \o  much,  andnow  he  \%  miserabile  and 
.  must  always  be  misérable.  Oh-f4t  ià  a  sharae,  a  shame  I  " 
'"Moh  Dieu/  Onlyhearherl  Heartless  I  Misérable  I 
One  woiild  think  I  was  ^  monster  I  Shall  I  order  him  out 
•f  Madanjie  Windsor*s  house  ?  shall  I  refuse  to  answei  when 
hc  speaks  ?  shall  I  get  a  mask  and  wear  it  whilç  he  chowci 
to  remain  in  this  dréaiy  town  I  I  tell  you  I  am  not  keeping 
him  hère — it  is  his  yacht." 

AU  this  Marie  says,  lifting  eyebrows  and  shôuldèrs  togethcr, 
tnd  making  a  yery  becoming  and  very  French  moue^  but  with 
the  sweetest  temper  ail  the  while. 

"Listen,  Petite,"  she  goes  on  careissingly,  "it  won't 
hurt  Mr.  F^ank,  this  absorbing  passion — ^he  is  only  a  boy.  1 
am  sorry  to  hurt  him,  I  like  him  vastly,  but  the  hunt  will  not 
•ast.  Do  not  let  us  talk  of  him— let  us  talk  of  Mr.  Long- 
•vorth*.  How  long  he  b  in  making  up  his  mind  I  " 
Reine  sighs. 

"It  is  ail  a  muddle.  Things  are  getting  into  a  dreadful 
tangle,  and  I  do  not  see  daylighî.  Marie,  I  hâve  had  but 
one,  but-  ond  letter  from  Léonce."  "        é 

"\^Tiich  goes  to  ^rove  that  M.  Léonce  is  probably  amu». 
»ng  himself  well  wherever  he  is,  and  does  not  trouble  himselt 
too  much  about  you.  But  do  not  be  anxious  on  that  score. 
Next  English  maîl  will  doubtless  bring  you  another." 

"  Mari^.if  14,.  Longworth  asks  you,  how  ishall  you  my 
no  ?  "       '^ 
Marie  looks  at  her,  a  smile  in  her  soft,  yellow-hazel  eyeâ 
"  Chère  Petite,  I  shall  wait  until  he  does  ask  me.     There 
are  times  when  I  am  not  at  ail  sure  that  he  will  ever  give  me 

Uuit  trouble.     There  are  times  when Come  in  !  " 

"  Mrs.  U'indsot^  miss,"  says  Catherine,  putting  in  her  head, 
"is  askidg  for  you,  miss.     Mrs.  Sheldon  and  Mr.  Dexta 
Juive  corne*  and  inissis'acomplimentSi  miss»  and  wiU  yfia< 
downr 


' 


**( 


"H«,7.R.me."M«ie«ys.andgoei 
Pe^yXfte  «:^'  •■"'^''-=''""»  Pri»™se.  and  opd,  »d 

Sow.;^^*'.rrrr:t2:r"d"?'^"'- 

q««,  and  Frank  Dextcr  is  by  M^X  sida  "^  «fi''  '"-"t 

P«a'es  h«  sida.»  .nad„r'AX  e"d  :;"he       'T 
•he  throws  down  her  mail-,  ,„^  j    ,  °  ''^''* 

•port  no  longe,     sZ  Z  °î'""  *^  "'"    »?»» 

ballsanriKs        ^         "•     ^"'  Presently  they  tire  <»       • 
MUS  and  noops,  and  musicand  quadriUe  on  ih/ J      ■     - 
proposed.  H-^miie  on  tue  gnuj  it 


y^ereu  Reine  ?  She  wiB  fUy,- 


n^iodNT. 


•uggeats  Giaadmguqim 


Ll»'^»,,,.. 


■■«C 


*22      ** SWEET  ^ilLVER  LIÙf^T  OF  THE  M^ON^     ' 

;  Madam  does  not  think  her  younger  granddaughter  esped 
ally  ornainental,  and  so  décides  she  should  on  al!  occasioiu 
make  herself  particularly  useful. 

"  She  went  in  that  direction.     I  will  go  and  find  her,"  «ayi 
Kfr.  Longworth. 

He  goes,  at  once,  and  pending  her  discovery  the  party 
pair  off,  and  stroU  about  in  the  raoonlight.  That  luminaiy 
bas  quite  arisen  by  this  time,  and  although  it  is  ten  o'clock, 
the  night  is  ahuost  midday  clear.  Evidently  Mr.  Longworth 
Jias  watched  Mlle.  Reine,  for  he  goes  directly  to  where  she  i» 
sitting.  A  lovy  wall  at  the  extrême  end  of  Mrs.  Windsor's  back 
içarden,  or  ordiard,  séparâtes  it  from  the  shelving  shore,  and 
jn  this  low  wall  Reine  is  sit'jng.  The  bay,  ail  smooth  and 
polished  as  a  great  mirror,  lies  béfore  her  ;  boats  corne  and 
go  ;  one  merry  party  afar  off  hâve  a  concertina,  and  the 
inusic  cornes  sweetly  and  faintly  on  the  still  night.  The 
moon  shines  fuU  on  Reine's  face,  on  the  pale  amber  dress,  the 
black  ribbon  around  her  waist,  and  the  coral  ornaments  she 
wears.  She  is  always  picturesque,  she  is  more  picturesque 
than  ever  to -night. 

She  looks  up  as  the  footsteps  approach,  and  he  sees  no 
shadow  of  change  in  her  face  as  he  draws  near.  She  does 
not  look  surprised,  she  does  not  looked  annoyed,  she  does 
not  look  curious  ;  she  glances  up  at  him  with  nothing  in  the 
îteadfast  brown  eyes  that  Longworth  can  make  out  but  se-  » 
rcne  indiffcreiicc  He  cornes  quite  near,  and  leans  against 
the  wall.  .j 

'•  rhey  are  going  to  dance,  Mlle.  Reine,"  he  says;  "thej 
«rant  you  to  play." 

"  Do  thcy  ?  "  she  says,  making  no  motion  to  rise.     "  Theic 
uc  othera  who  can  play,  I  believe     Who  sent  ?  '  * 

"Mrs.  Windsor." 

"  Ah  .  "  a  slight  sniile  curls  Reine's  lip — she  looks  at  hin  - . 
^hn  time^  witfr  a  gtance  aîm?«r  nf  e^vflTffnip     «  M^ntWWf /^ 
ibe  says,  "  did  she  send  you  f  " 


/■# 


'  esped 
Dcasi<nu 

v,"  Sâft 

e  party 
iminary 
o'clock| 
igworth 
re  she  it 
r'sback 
>re,  and 
>th  and 
me  and 
md  the 
t.  The 
ess,  the 
nts  she 
iresque 

;ees  no 
le  does 
le  does 
;  in  the 

but  se-* 
against 

"thtj 

•  Theic 


st  hin 
ûuaur/I 


•*  r//£  ivooiNG  o  r^ 


231 


•i»»,  but  you  do  not  rire»"  '°  "*"'«'  '"  <■«  «"■■« 


CHAPTER  XVI 

**1HB    WOOINO    o't." 

"en  Mlle.  Reine  out  '?  iT"^  *"»="•  He  bas  slartled 
■ooks  „p  at  birisZJd         "^"^^  '"'"'*^-     She 
•' Monsieur!"  she  faintly  exdaims. 

>»«s„rprisedy„u.    Ld,e.7t:ugï;j!ir«'  '  '^  ' 

Ob,  do  not  stop  I"  she  cries  ont    «eo  on  I    c        . 
ro.1  tbought,   „hat  you  know    i\Z      ^         \    ^"J'  "'« 

«»led  you  to  maTy  one  oî  u^'  tT,    7,8™''"°'*='  %* 
■"^y  you.  wheneverZ  dM  us  *I  f    "  """«'  "'  »*   ' 

.".beone,  ohi/j^ir^::^-;-^'  ^■«" 

"    "Ohi  rV»    L -»    »'«^begins,  humedry. 

going  to  sa)  no,  you  kaow  l  ait  not  going 


^^     J. 


^îy-'j^çs" 


•34 


T«fi   WOOING  O'T* 


to  say  no.  And  I  ought  to  hâve  been  prepared.  Wah  oiiI| 
one  moment,  I  entreat" 

He  waits.  Were  ever  moments  as  long  as  hours  before? 
Thon  her  hands  fall,  and  clasp  hard  togethcr  in  Her  la^ 
and  she  looks  at  him  with  dry  and  dreary  eyes. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  says  ;  "  I  ought  not,  I  know.  Since  h 
had  to  be  one  of  us,  I  ought  to  be  glad  it  is  I.  I  feared  yo« 
would  hâve  chosien  her— she  is  beautiful  and  I  am  not 
Monsieur,  I  wonder  you  chose  me  I  " 

He  stands  petrified.  Did  ever  maiden  make  such  a  speech 
to  her  lover  before  !     But  he  manages  to  reply. 

"Beauty  is  a  question  of  taste.  You  hâve  always  beçn 
beautiful  to  me.  But,  mademoiselle,  you  misunderstand  me, 
I  think.  When  I  said  I  hoped  this  would  not  surprise  you 
I  meant  that  my  attentions  to  you  should  hâve  prepared/ot 
for  it.  I  really  thought  they  had  ;  I  really  strove  to  make 
them.  I  never  had  any  thought  of  asking  Mlle.  Marie 
from  first  to  last." 

She  sits,  her  hands  still  clasped,  but  her  eyes  hâve  left  hii 
face,  and  are  watching  the  moonlight  on  the  water.  She 
seems  to  be  listening  as  much  to  the  laint,  far-off  music  in 
the  boat  as  to  him. 

"  I  knew,"  he  goes  on,  «*  that  you  were  prejudiced  against 
I  overheard,  as  you  are  aware,  your  déclaration  of  war 
Ihit  aftemoon  last  May  in  Miss  Hariott's  garden.  But  per- 
haps  that  very  préjudice,  that  very  défiance,  were  but  added 
incentives — if  I  needed  incentives.  I  strove  in  good  faith, 
and  after  my  light,  to  remove  your  aversion.  How  useleM 
my  striving,  how  poor  my  light,  I  realize  to-night,  realizing 
for  the  first  time  that  you  absolutely  hâte  me." 

**  Monsieur  I  "  she  flashes  out,  with  a  touch  of  scom,  **  did 
f ou  think  I  loved  you  ?"  / 

"I  narer  did  you  that  injustice,  mademoiselle.  But  I  wai 
Aot  conscious  iaaay  way,  or  byany  aet  of  mine,  of  deservtng 
four  disUke,  and  I  m^aot  to  try  and  rçmpve  it.    Of  latt  jgv 


me. 


«Ë 


iltfm^^  ijk£i,jid^^kÂ^â:i^iî'iî^  ée&it^Lj^^^ 


¥ait  0Bt| 

s  before? 
her  U^ 

Sinceit 

iared  yo% 

am  not 

a  speech 

ays  beçn 
tand  me, 
»rise  yoiv 
are^ot 
to  make 
e.  Marie 


T/a  wooiifa  o*r.*» 


S 


e  left  hii 
er.  She 
music  in 


i  agaînst 
n  q(  war 
But  per- 
Lif  added 
od  faith, 
r  useleia 
realizing 


« 


«Hd 


m, 

; 

lit  I  wat 
eserving^ 


•te 


succecded.     I tiZu'»  '  "°''^"'  »"  '  "°"Sht  I  had 
<'That  HT-»    U7-  j        """  "°/ ''^aves  on  the  shore. 

f„IH^  '""^  '  "    «=  '"™»  fr<"»  h",  a^-  «an,  hi. 

lolded  arms  upon  the  wall  wJfK  o  «    •      i    • 

his  blonde,  han'^so^rr^''  "h™  ITJf  ^r'V""',  '" 
Mademoiselle  Rei„e,it  wo„.d  ^Z^  XZ^L'^» 
you.    But  this  I  do  teU  vou— v™.  .K.n      -  •  ,  " 

".e,  hating  me  I  "  '^       '      *^  '="*""'''  ■«"  »«=P' 

"  I  do  not  hâte  you." 

J  ^The  ,T  "'V  ''  "'    '""  ^*  "'"«"^  Oo  no.  lik. 

.::edi;î  r: 'gt-'"'"  '^"  '™"=  '""="  '  '^'  «p»^'  ^  ^'  - 

«fce'''"T„'^'!^°"''™''  ^"8"°'*'"  «J^  Reine,  in  a  softened 

^^udt^^^^rMidLrw^.rje^::,':: 

«  proud,  and  q„ick..en,„e.4  and  self-willed.    OK^t',! 


à^SiLvei^^  Ù^^  >■  * 


Vf 


flj6 


••r/W   WOCING  O'T.* 


it  weC,  but  I  6ârove  wîth  the  feeling,  and  it  woie  away 
llien  came  that  ôther  day  when  grandmamnia  told  us  of 
your  compact  How  we  were  to  stand  off  and  wait  for  yot 
to  eho«jse  betwésn  us,  and  accept  you  humbly  when  you 
asked.  or  refuse  and  go  out  to  beggary.  Oh  1  it  was  hard,  it 
was  shameful,  and  ail  the  old  hâte  came  back,  and  I  think  I 
would  hâve  killed  you  almost,  if  I  could.  I  am  a  veiy  paa* 
ttonate  and  viricked  girl,  I  tell  you  again."  1 

♦*  Poor  childl  "   he  says,  half  to  himsel^  "  I  don't  blaqie 
jrou.     It  was  naturaL"  '   v 

"  But  this<  aiso  wore  away — in  part,*  Reine  continues,  a 
tremor  in  her  voice  as  she  hears  that  half  spoken  mimnur, 
"  I  could  not  altogether  despise  you,  try  as  I  would.  You 
are  a  good  and  gênerons  man— oh  1  let  me  say — and  who 
can  fail  to  respect  goodness.  And  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
if  you  asked  me  I  would  try  and  make  the  best  of  it  and  say 
yes  quietly.  I  am  not  a  brave  girl,  monsieur;  I  havc 
always  been  cared  for  and  cherished,  and  the  thought  of  be- 
ing  tumed  on  the  world  alone  and  poor,  was  terrible.  There  . 
was  Marie,  too,  I  had  to  think  of  her.  So  I  made  up  my  ipind 
to  say  yes  if  you  spoke,  and  offend  you  no  more.  But  when 
you  came — and  sitting  hère  alor.e  I  was  thinking  of  .France 
—oh,  my  France  !  " — she  stretches  dut  her  arms,  a  heart  sob 
in  every  word — "  and  it  ail  took  me  so  by  surprise  that  I 
was  shocked,  and  you  saw  it.  But  that  is  over  now,  and  I 
hâve  shown  you  my  heart  as  the  good  God  sees  it.  And  if 
you  go  to  madame,  my  grandmother,  ànd  tell  her  you  can 
not  take  me,  it  will  only  serve  me  right." 

The  impassioned  voice  ceases,  and  the  silence  that  followt 
is  long.     Mr.  Longworth  breaks  it  at  last. 

"  It  is  for  the  home  and  the  fortune  you  consent  to  marr) 
me  then ?    Only  this ?"  " 

"  Only  this.     What  else  =ould  there  be  >  " 
-  Agatn  silence.     Agâtn  ^r.  tôngworth  ipeaki  ta  i 
«rnsly  constrained  voice. 


'y>-'\ 


'^V 


ji..,.;iSl», 


-r^Off  WOOING   9* T.* 


and  I 


#j 


22y 


ar« 


/   "Cher  .o  do  ,o„  ^ ^7l^t7Tr """" 

»l  once  with  her  wish  that  I IJT'        ^'^  ""'  '^''"^"•'a 

™y  ow„  a,  the  same  .W  """^  ^°"'  «^'"^'-S  with 

"fflce  n,e?"  '  '"""■  ^°"  "•=»  *ae  you  mighe  evea^ 

hard  to_„  ,ae  ;„^  i™w^  *"'•     ^"  "  """M  -ot  be  «, 
"  Vou  are  qui.e  certain,  n.ade?„ise'le ^rrH»  '"k*"'- 

"^ao.  ;;^sHo„,^e^e:'«:-T;-1*;■-  -«». 

-or.    ra^r:."^J".r'"'"«'''fe"«y.  Mr.  Long. 
•™e  co.es,  /ou  n.rj^'j' C;  o"t  ""T^'  """'  *« 

"■oreSr£fffi^^4::r.;:j- 

b-n-T-r    'j;f:r^: -'-'■?  «rsithe  .ak^he,  . 

Jk._yùvand«,..-U^r'^^„^°^*»^'^JS'»^^ 
»ou  go!'  tli..„  I  „i|i  ,h,,k  y„       ''°"'  »"'^  «n  "ever  lel 

comeK-,^  M  lime  goej  on,  j  our  dif 


iHiïvV,  s,iiSû»..î!,'. 


laS 


••  THE    WOOiNG  0'T7 


trast  of  Lie  goes  on,  tooj.then  be  âiire  t  wilflcnow  it,  and  1m 
tne  firsl  to  break  the  bond  we  are  biniîing  now." 

Ile'releases  the  hands  he  holds,  and  Reine  feels,  with  a 
sort  yf  wonder  at  herself,  that  her  eyes  are  looking  aï  him 
admiringly,  as  he  stands,  brave,  fair,  noble,  earnest,  tnie,  be 
f>re  her. 

"Shall  we  go  back?"  he^  says,  changîng  his  tone,  and 
looking  at  his  watch.  "  They  will  think  me  a  woefuUy  tudy 
messenger.*' 

She  descends  frora^the  waU,  and  takes  the  arm  he  ofTcrs, 
her  face  droopiog,  her  fearless  frankness  gone,  silent,  shy. 

"One  last  word,"  |ie,  says.  "Reine — I  may  cal)  you 
Reine,  free  from  prefix?  It  is  the  {jrettieçt  name  in  the 
world."  ^ 

"  Surely,"  she  answers,  readily.  •  * 

"  It  would  be  asking  too  much,  I  suppose,  to  àsk  yod  to 
câll  me  Laurence  ?  "  , 

She  sniiles  and  shakes  her  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  so.     And  yet  it  is  an  easy  name  to  say." 

"  We  will  wait.  I  think  ail  will  come  in  time.  May  I  tell 
Mrs.  Windsor?" 

"Oh  \  yes,  yes-;^the  sooner  the  better.  Let  ail  be  open 
— Ict  ail  be  told.     I  hâte — ^yes,  I  abhor  secrets  I  " 

Soiiie  of  the  old  passion  rings  in  her  voice.  He  t6bl^  at 
her  in  surprise — what  can  this  outspoken  child  -know  ol 
secrets  ?  For  she  looks  a  very  child  to  him  in  her  impetuous 
fits  of  wrath,  although  at  other  times  the  stately  Little  Queeo 
they  call  hei 

"Then  I  will  tell  her  to-morrow,"  he  answers.  And  m 
nipense  it  over,  and  Reine  Landel|e  's  woed  and  iron. 


i    ' 


% 


^yARYBESl  THJNG  IN  AIL  rffB  ^ORLD:^      «g 


CHAPTERXVII. 

••THK   V«RY   BEST  THING    fV  ALL  THE   WORLD.' 

alkmg  in  the  moonlight.  when  Longworth  rejobî 

"Really    Laurence,"  says  Mrs.  Sheldon,  lookine  at  hJm  - 

you  obhged  to  go  to  Miss  Hariott's  to  find  Mlle.  Rcine^' 

Notquuesofar.    Will  you  dance  with  me,  Totty?    1 
«ee  t»èy  are  (brming  thè  set."  ^ 

AU  ,he  rest  of  the  evening  Reine  remains  at  the  piano 
When  the  lamps  are  lighted  and  they  flock  i„  tireTZ 
bre^h  ess  wrth  ,he  sheer  hari  worlc  „f  iancing  »'  the  grl 

-ce  Lp^a  ZZ^r^XHjZ^^ 

«rgainst  thevchniney-piece   sinn,'n.r  h.c  •     .^^       '  «* 

talkinâ'fn  x,r,  •     .   J^P™'  sippmg  his  iced  lemonade  and 

ere^l'  ""n  ^V'  "'  ""^  ^'"^  "•="^8=  »  "»'&  «gain  tha. 
««ht     rhere  »  .  certain  wistfulnes.  i„  hi.  ey«^"W  ^ 


L'V^  ù't'pili>jj.M->^'i»it^,\% 


>  ^ufii^  .ii^î^*^j-ii.ii/%av^SÉa.\ 


T 


h  ^v 


13«       **yE^Y  BEST  THING  IN  ALL  TffE  WORLD.* 

ire  hxed  upon  the  keys,  and  she  does  not  observe  it     She 
«  striking  chords  at  random  as  he  speaks. 

"Good-night,   petite    Reine,"    he    says,   with    a    smiîe 
"Shall  you  be  at  home  to-morrow  evening  when  I  call  ?'* 

'  I  do  not  know,  Monsieur  Longworth,^'  she  says  with 
•uddcn  hurry  ;  «  there  is  just  one  thing  I  wish  to  say.     It  i 
Ihis  :  When  you  speak  to  grandmainDia,  make  her  understan 
ihe  mu£t  change  her  will — that  ail  nmst  not  go  to  you — thaï. 
Marie  must  hâve  half.     It  is  her  right,  you  know,"  she  says, 
and  looks  for  the  first  time  up  at  him,  a  flash  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh  I  confound  the  money  !  "  Longworth  thinks,  with  in- 
ward  savagery.  "Before  Heaven,  I  wish  Mrs.  Windsor 
were  a^beggar.     Even  this  child  can  think  of  nothing  else." 

"Gràndmainma  will  listen  toyou,"  pursues  mademoiselle, 
"I  think  you  will  find  her  disai^pointed  in  your  choice,  mon- 
«eur.  I  am  quite  sure — and  very  naturally— she  thinks  you 
must  ask  Marie."  ^ 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  says,  "I  am  curions  about  some 
Ihing.  Down  yonder  in  the  garden  you  said  this  :  *  Since  it 
had  to  be  one  of  us,  I  am  glad  it  is  I.'  Now,  everything 
considered,  it  strikes  me  that  was  rather  a  curions  speecli." 

"  A  bold  one  perhaps,  monsieur  thinks^' 

"  Well— no,  since  there  is  but  one  way  of  interpreting  il. 
Your  great  love  for  your  sister  makes  self-abnegation  easy. 
You  prefer  to  sacrifice  yourself— since  one  of  yoïkJt  must  be 
— ^than  see,  her  sacrificed,"  ^ 

"  If  that  explanation  satisfies  monsieur,  it  will  do  as  well  a- 
any  other,"  responds  mademoiselle,  cooUy,  "but  it  is  not 
precisely  what  I  meant.  Do  not  ask  me  now — one  day  I 
promise  to  tell  you." 

"  1  wonder  when  that  day  will  come,"  he  says,  leaning 
against  the  piano,  and  looking  down  at  her,  wondering  how 
any  one  can  think  that  spiritod  mignonne  face  plain  ;  "mean 

kV  to.  waiN^for  rvc^ything/     t>wty=t-shottl<?^^ 


Kke  to  a>nvinoe  you  that  if  Mrs.  W'indspr  had  not  a  pennf 


Y, 


^■'**ù.lr\\*1iSliîy  ^f 


i.f. 


^■j^ 


L     She 

sini'.e 
11?" 
ys  witli 
It  i 
erstan 
Il — thaï, 
le  says, 
j'es. 

ivith  in- 
l'^indsor 
else." 
loiselle, 
;,  inon- 
iks  you 

some 
îince  it 

*  ê 

rything 

BCll." 

iting  il. 
1  easy. 
mst  be 

well  a- 

is  noi 

day  I 


eaning 
g  how 
mean 
shouW 


penny 


^-VMMYBMST  T/f/Vu  JV  ALI  THR  WOIiLD:       23, 

^«Id  3till  hâve  spoken-ay.  and  said  far  moi^  than  I  hL 
«id  to  you  to-night.     I  wonder  if  I  could  " 

.^T  •°°k'''  "^  ^'  ^™'  "^"  °'^  ^^^^^*  »"d  doubt.  alm«rt 
aversion  m  her  gaze.  ~««wi 

yo».    I  am  ready  to  many  you  ;  I  do  not  dislike  you,  and  I 

L  Zl  "*"  ""'  "^^  *«■»•     Th«y  force  me 

to  doubt  your  smce„ty-^„d  I  would  rather  thiik  you  ri„. 

JT°k"  "f  "'y  ""<i'"''°d  Plain  speaking,"  he  says,  drai 

wZh''  '  f  r™?""  '  ""•"  ^''"  '  ™  »  '<"«  "i*  /ou  ? 
Would  you  believe  that?" 

•*  Most  certainly  not,  monsieur." 

Mh/p''-  "***,  ''?^''  "'^'^  ^^  "^  '^^•"S  nonsense."  replies 
Mlle.  Reine,  lookmg  at  him  with  brightly  angry  eyes.  «You 
often  do^Jcp«^;  but  this  is  hardly  a  time  or  thème  for  jest. 

'   Zh  7*^^""'  T  °^  '•^^  ^"^^'•°"'  ^f  y°"  1>1«»««»  once 
and  for  alL     You  wiU  speak  to  Madame  Windsor  whei  and 
how  you  choose,  but  thèse  are  the  terms  upon  which  [  ar 
cept  you-that  half  her  ^rtune  goes  to  Marie  " 

"Good-night,  Mlle.  Reine,"  he  says.  brusquely,  and  brw« 

.mlr  î"'       r    ^"'  '"'  ^T  «"«  »»-d  on  his  sleeve,  an. 
■mi/es  m  nis  face. 

nJTr  ^  ''^'^^  "^"^^  ^''^  ^"^i''  ^'^^  *"  because  I  would 
Nhan/  V'"r'"'''  "°"''"'"-  Americans  always  shake 
N  han  1.  when  they  say  good-night,  do  fliey  not  ?     Indeed  yo. 

Monsieur  T^urence." 
Hc  Uughs  and  obeys,  and  sh«.  g.H,s  witn  him  to  the  ào<n 


pk.jtèA^u*^    A-iïi  V^-(f  l>-s. 


l^ifc-«^^fc*fV  *    *  - 


»$2       •*ritMYBRST  raiNG  lIfA:.L  THÉ  WO^l^.*       t 

■till  smiling  radiantly.  Is  she  developing  coquetry,  .  3o  ?  M 
wonders. 

*<  The  sort  of  girl  to  make  a  fool  of  any  man,"  h|  thinki, 
half  grimly»  recalling  the  brilliant  eyes  and  smile;  "piquaut, 
provoking,  half  bewitching,  wholly  exasperating  ;  having 
more  than  any  other  I  ever  met  that 

'  C>rtwiiig  and  exquiâte  grâce,  never  bold, 
Etrer  |»eient,  which  jast  a  few  women  pocMM.'^ 

The  day  shall  coma — that  I  swear — when  she  will  not  only 
fcffgive  me  for  bringing  her  hère,  and  refusing  to  rob  her,  but 
also  for  asking  her  to  be  my  wife  I  " 

Mr.  Longworth  gœs  on  with  his  usual  routine  of  office 
work  next  day,  and  it  is  after  dinner  before  he  tums  his  steps 
toward  the  gray  Stone  House.  He  finds  Mrs.  Windsor  sit- 
ting  alone,  in  her  favorite  room,  in  her  favorite  chair,  hei 
white  har  ds  folded  in  her  black-silk  lap,  her  eyes  hxed  on 
the  gray  su.imer  evening  outside.  No  voice  in  high,  sweet 
nnging  greets  hini  as  he  draws  near,  and  he  feels  a  curioui 
•ense  of  blankness  ànd  disappointment  in  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Windsor  welcomes  her  friend,  and  informs  him  she  is 
suffering  from  slight  headache,  and  wonder^ghy  he  has  come 
to  see  her  chis  evening. 

**  Why  not  this  evening  ?  "  the  gentleman  inquires.  "  Where 
are  the  young  ladies ?" 

"Where  I  imagined  you  to  be,  at  the  concert.  Frank 
Dexter  came  hère  for  Marie  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Oh  I  to  be  sure  I  the  concert  I  had  forgotten  ail  about 
it.  And  I  fully  intencied  to  ask  Reine.  By  the  way,  with 
«hom  has  she  gone ?" 

"  Her  bosom  friend,  Miss  Hariott,  I  believe." 

LongA^'orth's  brow  clears.  Mrs.  Wir  dsor's  eye*  ar»  fixed 
fnoringly  upon  him. 

— «^  You  mpantto  ask  Reine  ?^  she  repeatr  «lowly.     **  Dr- 
I  apprehend  you  correctly  ?    Reine  t" 


i^t-ji.-i^iîhs-^ii-ii'éllgi  ^     ^vbJ!  i 


^iâl-Ak''^ 


■   ^        i^_.  JC,i 


"Reine.     Congraiulate  me,  vay  dear  madam,  and  consent 
to  receive  me  into  your  family.     Last  night  I  proposed,  and 
•as  accepted." 
"Proposed!"  she  echoes,  in  a  bewildered  way  ;   "lasl 

night  I     Not  to — surely  not  to " 

"  Reine.  Of  course  to  Reine.  It  appears  to  me  I  con 
cealed  my  mtentions  well,  or  every  one  bas  been  singularly 
blmd.^  When  we  talked  together  that  night,  coming  from 
the  picnic,  I  meant  to  ofiFer  myself  to  your  younger  grand- 
daughter  if  to  either.  And  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  she  has 
said  yes." 

"Laurence,"  Mrs.  Windsor  says,  in  sloW  wonder,   «do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  in  love  with  her  ?" 

"  Madam,  excuse  me.     That  is  a  qjiestion  your  grand, 
daughter  herself  never  put     When  I  answer  it,  it  must  be  to 
her  first  of  alL     WiU  it  not  suffice  that  I  hâve  asked  her  to 
many  me,  and  she  has  answeréd  yes  ?  "  , 
•       "  I  feel  bewildered,"  Mrs.  Windsor  say^,  and  sh^e  looks  it. 
"  Reme,  when  you  might  hâve  had  Marie.     A  small,  plain, 
rather  sullen-tempered  girl,  without  attractiveness  of  any  sort 
except  good  taste  in  dress  and  a  fine  voice,  when  you  might 
'hâve  had  rare  beauty,  grâce,  and  sweetneçs.     This  explains 
why  you  permitted  Frank  Dexter  to   run   about  with  hçr 
every where.     And  you  really  prefer  Reine  ?  " 

"I  really  dp,"  he  says,  almost  laUghing,  "amazing  as  it 
appears  to  be." 

"Amazing  indeeJ,  to  me.  Of  course,  you  must  prefer 
her,  or  you  would  not  askjier.  But,  Laurence,  the  girl  does 
ttot  even  like  you." 

"That  is  my  great  misfortuiie.  It  shall  be  the  labor  of 
my  life  to  try  and  induce  her  to  change  her  mind.  I  do  noi 
despair  of  success  in  time." 

•îienlsittotie?" 
"What?" 


k 


à> 


;  t 


»34       '*  VER  Y  BEST  THING  fV  Ali,  THE  WOEZJX* 

**  The  wedding,  of  course." 

"  Somewhere  in  the  dira  and  shadowy  future.  When  Mlle 
Reine  does  me  the  honor  to  overcome  her  aversion  and^ 
wrell,  let  us  say,  begins  to  toleratc  me.  Not  an  hour  before— 
that  is  the  express  stipulation.  I  bave  your  consent  and  ap. 
proval,  madam,  I  présume  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,  but  I  wish  it  had  been  Marie.  Reine  I  I 
cannot  realize  it.  I  never  thought  of  her  as  your  wife.  I  am 
confounded." 

'*  No  doubt.  **  One's  choice  invariably  confounds  one'i 
friends.  But  ï  hâve  chosen,  and  am  not  likely  to  êhange 
my  raind.  If  I  can  win  Mlle.  Reine's  good  opinion  after  a 
little,  believe  me  I  shall  consider  myself  a  mosl  fortunate 
nian." 

"I  think  you  mûst  be  in  love  with  her,"  says  Mrs.  Wind 
sor,  thoughtfuUy,  ai.d  a  conscious  smile  cornes  into  Long 
worth's  face.  «*  What  shall  I  say  to  her  when  she  retums  ? 
For  I  ara  sure  I  do  not  know." 

"What  you  wo\ild  say  to  Marie  in  her  place.  Acd, 
madam,"  he  says,  hurriedly,  "  I  w^h  you  would  try  to  like 
her.  Believe  me,  it  is  a  heart  of  gold.  A  little  kindnesi 
from  you  will  go  a  great  way,  and  she  needs  kindness,  poot 
child." 

"Hâve  I  been  unkind  to  .ler?"  Mrs.  Windsor  says,  in 
proud  surprise  ;  "  has  she  been  complaining  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  she  has  not.     And  while  we  are  on  this 
subject,  pardon  my  asking  if  you  hâve  destroyed  that  will,  of 
which  you  spoke  to  me  before  they  came  ?  "- 
V  I  bave  not,"  she  retums,  in  the  sanie  cold  voice. 

"Then  I  beg  you  to  do  it.      Make  another,  and  givc 
Marie  her  fair  sJare.     Or  hiake  none,  and  let  the  law  divide; 
ît  is  presumptuous  in  me  to  speak  to  you  of  this,  but  I  think 
jrou  will  not  misunderstand  my  motive." 
"  I  am  not  likely  to.     You  havcil  proved  yoursulf  ahnn 


âauAy  disinterested.     I  will  tiiink  of  what  you  say  ;  no  doob 


JpiiS; 


i  !  ' 


Vi,-, 


'VExymssr  raiNG  wall  tjêb  wmij}."    235 

thc  •ofld  wHi  hold  it  only  justice.    Are  you  going    lao 

«  I  must  présent  myself  at  thé  concert  foi  .n  hcnr  at  If ast 
Thank  you,  Mrs.  Windsor."  He  takes  her  hand  as  she 
nses.  «  How  often  I  seem  to  hâve  to  thank  you,  but 
never  I  think,  with  quite  the  same  depth  of  gratitude  as  ta 
night." 

"You  owe  me  nothing  hère,"  she  retums  with  f.«  lest 

cordiahty  than  usual.     "  I  never  thought  of  this.     Bnt  yoc 

hâve  chpsen  for  yoursel£  I  can  only  hope  you  wiil  nevei 
repent it"                  > 

"  That  I  am  sure  I  shall  not-let  it  end  as  it  may.     Good 

'  Hoirtireet  are  "Hrè  congratulations  of  friends  I  "  thinks 
Longworth,  with  a  shrug,  a»  he  shuts  the  door.     "  Andthis 
18  but  the  béginning  of  the  end  !     If  I  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Mane's  doll-face  and  doll's  soûl,  ail  would  hâve  been 
proper  and  well;  but  I  choose  a  '  que^n  of  noble  naturels 
crownmg,'  and  because  her  complexion  is  dark,  and  that 
piquant  little  face  irregular,  and  she  is  only  five  feet  four  in  * 
her  veiy  highest-heeled  shoes,  every  one  will   fall  into  a 
trance  of  wonder.      As  if  goodness  and  greatness   were 
measured  by  the  yard,  or  diamonds  sold  by  the  hundred 
*'%eight  !  "  ' 

Mr.  Longworth  puts  in  an  appearg^ce  at  the  concert,  and 
does  esçort  duty  after,  for  Miss  Hester  Hariott  an^  Mlle 
Reine  Undelle.  Need  it  be  said  that  Frank  Dextei  hann 
devotedly  oVer  Marie?  He  has  not  put  his  fate  to  th< 
touch  yk,  Longworth  sees  ;  his  case  is  so  desperate,  the 
•take  is  ko  immense,  that  he  turns  coward  and  dare  not  be 
prématuré.  ^  AU  things  are  possifele  to  the  man  who  car 
walt,  ar^l  Frank,  who  never  practiced  patience  bef^rfr^i£ 
testing  tjhat  virtue  now  to  its  fuUest.         v  ^ 


"Haé  Reine  told  you?"  Longworth  asks,  aï  he  stand 
'«aiiing  over  Hester  nariotf  s  litUe  white  gâte.     They  ha>» 


ï/^ 


■■■■  •  >  ■.'■  ■ 


,^3fi       ''V'Ki^BÊÈTTttMG  WALL  THE  WORLÙ.^ 

left  Reine  home,  and  he  h^s  sauntered  back  with  Jie  eld« 
lady  to  the  cottage. 

"Reine    hastold   me    nbthing,"   she    replies,   quickl, 
l.any,  what  hâve  you  beèn  âbout  ?  " 
^  "A  pièce  of  foUy,  I  dare  say,  if  the  truth  were  known. 
\«kmg  your  Lutle  Queen  to  many  me." 

She  stands  silent     She  loves  Reine.     She  tells  herself  she 
nas  wished  for  this  ;  but  Longworth  is  her  friend,  and  when  . 
friend  manies,  his  friendship  must  end.    And  with  ail  her  love 
lor  Keme,  it  is  a  moment  before  Hestel-  Hariott  çan  speak. 
,  And  so   I  lose   my  friend  1     Well,  I  am  glad."    She 

draws  a  long  breath,  and  holds  out  her  hand.  «  Yes,  \mx- 
rence,"  she  says  resolutely,|<  I  am  glad.  You  win  a  treasure 
m  wmnmg  Reme  Landelle.\ 

"  Ah  !  but  I  haven^  Wdn  her-^at  least  not  yet.     I  hâve 

7lT  t  r  "^^T^-^^^  another  thing,  you  under 
stand.  Rester,  Wu  are  her- chosen  friend,  you  know  hei 
well— tell  me  iMjiave  any  hope." 

"IwilInotjCyouonewôrd.     Find  out  for  yourselfl     r" 
am  not  afraidSf  your  man's  vanity  ever  letting  you  despair. 
LitUe  s,  ent  witch  !     Tq  think  how  confidential  we  were  hère 
ail  the  aftemoon,  talking  of  you  too,  and  that  she  should  neve, 
breathe  à%ord  1  " 

"  What  were  you  saying  of  me  ?  " 

«  Nothing  you  wiU  ever  hear.     What  does  Grandmothe. 

•ay  r  •<.. 

"  Many  things,  the  principa»   Deing  she  would  rather  i, 
^ere  Mane,  and  that  she  gives  consent  " 

"  Marie  !  "  repeats  Miss  Hariott.  "  Do  you  know.  Lau 
retce,  I  d  >  not  quite  comprehend  Mlle.  Marie.  She  leern» 
ril  nght  enough,  and  Reine  a.  <-  her.  She  is  gentle,  an^ 
8miling,and  too  serene-tempered  half  for  «y  taste  •  but  I 
«nnot  see  through  her.  I  don't  fc..ow  what  underlies  it  alL 
Npw,  Reme  is  transparent  as  crj^  StiU  J  wonde-  M^v 
i»aa  itot  the  on*  vnw  Hi/«ar»^ — -¥■    ■■-  —       t  ^^ 


V 

n 


^»»  not  the  one  you  chose.*^ 


'    I 


r^ 


tr 


•r-' 


d,««eo„e,  th.  „a.urai  contrarie.,  ^':.„  «U^  st,ec 
^^  g        oood-by.     I  hâve  yoor   good  wishe,,    I   ,„p 
'•  My  very  best  wishes.     Good-night." 

"•Nothingc«nbe«.ith«beeiibefore.  / 

Betterwodlit,  onlynotthei  ' 


Matrimonial  news  Aies  anar*.     ««» 

«■fïaged.    And  every  one  is  astonished. 

surifT-i'  •"?  *"  ""*  ■^"^'"^      "%  à<^.  are  y„„ 

OU,","^"  tîoter  cr,T  ""r"  """'«'"  ""'■=  "-^  "■« 

«/jovei  cries  the  maie  z/tf^c  ij/;i»«//  «  T -._^_  ,1 
^-a.»  WM  an  «,d  foh-no  cher  fellof^:^  dt°r°  ' 
A^  .  a  n.ce  h.tle  Wng,  „i.h  a  magnificene  pair  of  el  !ld 
t  stunnine  voice.     \Vhaf  a  ..«*     /  F'^"  w  cyes,  anu 

meir  teet  Ike  cats;  he's  one.     Lost  one  fortune  fer  lo»e 
and  now  wm.  another-cured  by  a  hair  ci  the  d^g  J^S 


^'i\i]Ètii&êM!.&i-i ., 


238       **yERYBESTTHlNu'NAU  THEWLRLD." 
-  a„;  "^^^  '"^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^''  ^'^-^'^'  '«-^^  ^  --' 

them  for  the  first  time;  both  are  eminently  cool,  serene 
and  self-collected.     Marie's  faint,  sweet  laugh  i.  ^ZZl, 

assed.     No  jealousy  exists  between  the.n,  that  is  évident- 
they  understand  each  other  perfectiy  ;  ail  may  see  that. 

The  news  flies  to  Mrs.  Long«rorth  in  its  veiy  first  %hL 
and  circulâtes  among  the  boarders.     Frank's  eyes  flashltS 

.t!  ow^  '^"?'  ':  '°"'^"''  '^""^  "^'^^  ^  g^'P  that  niakeP 
its  owner  mnce,  and  congratulâtes  him  with  a  sincerity  there 
can  be  no  mistaking.  Congratulations  rain  uuon  him 
mdeed  and  last  of  aU  cornes  Mrs.  Sheldon  extcnding  ^; 
white  hand,  and  rather  shifting  away  from  the  gaze  of  his 
blue  pierçing  eyes. 

«Your  choice  has  surprised  us,"  she  says;  «we  ail  ex- 

Ced"ar''  \^T'     ^"'  -'-^'/your  taste  h^c 
J^anged,  and,  as  a  blonde  man,you  prefer  brunettes.     She 

rlh'  "'^         '  '°^  '  ""  ^"^  "  "  *  ^^'  d--blc 
"Thanks,  Totty,"  responds  Mr.   Longworth.     «As  you 

s  der  Mlle.  Reine's  prospective  riches  as  the  very  least  of 
ail  her  attractions."  ^  ** 

s,  .o.!  '"r'^K^""  r'""'"''**  ^^™P^'>^'  ^"^  g««*«»t  on  the 

toop.  where  h.s  sub-editor  sits  smoking  an  after-dinner  pipe, 

and  looking  unusually  grave.     Contrary  to  custom,  O'Su  it 

him  joy  at  ail,  m  fact.     r.ongworth  approaches,  and  sUi. 
•"m  on  the  shoulder.  »     '«  »iaM 

__  «  A/tA  CSu^ivani^.^,,  of  a  hundred  kings-iw^r/iiWrl  i^ 


Â 


# 


Ml 


uUutani/     When  all  «..^    tr    • 

■"f.'*»  you,  O.     Corne,  m»  spiTLp  ,^  '^*'""    "'' 

te^e  otLr."  *^*  ■"*•    ""'  ^*  I  *<»«ht  it  «  to 

■".Longworthgroanj. 

i"And  thouBnitusl    Gotoi     rr^.i     . 
^  .-t  has  been  o„e  ^„',  J^*" '"^  »«* ««id », «. 

«nusual  with  her,  and  during^hichT/ M     .  """'""'  «''' 
h..  Virgin  he«  al^a.r.^n.'t'  T'  ""^-  ^^'^^  •""* 

/mS  r -rr '4ri^,  r  »«' ^n.  .a .. 

"car,  apace.     Frank  fa  c^T"  7u    .*"  «"''  °'  *'  "«"'"« 

Hario,.andI.„g:t^\tî.Ip'^.^S^Jl^»*^  «'» 
'"»;  Md  Reine,  by  herself  uJmL  """'"*' «"^  journal. 

H«V,a«enUon,i;?atÎy1prs."'"^  •/«.  direc. 
-mZn^  r  ^..f  °^  '"''''^"'  '"d  freshly.>,g,grf  i„,^ 
r     cet.  with  what  compo-ure  they  part      he 


#" 


f 


<; 


;      240       '*VERY BEST  THING  IN  ALL  THE  WORLD,'' 

inanners  of  both  hâve  ail  the  Idfty  repose  that  marks  thc 
caste,  of  Vere  de  Vere.  Such  a  word  as  spooning  is  un' 
known  in  their  vocabulary.  I  wonder  how  I.ongworth  pro 
posed.  I  wish  I  had  been  near  ;  I  require  a  lesson,  and  it 
raust  hâve  been  rich'ness  to  hear  him." 

"  You  lequire  no  lesson  in  easy  and  natural  impertinence 
at  least,  young    man,"    says    Miss    Hariott,   with    sever- 
ity;    «the  impudence  of  the  rising  génération  is  beyond 
*    belief." 

Marie  laughs.  Reine  goes  on  with  her  novel.  Long 
worth  looks  imperturbable. 

"There  is  a  Spanish  proverb,"  Continues  Mr.  Dexter, 
unabashed,  "which  says,  *To  be  wise  and  love  exceed» 
màn's  strenffch.'  Look  in  Larr/s  face,'owl-like  in  its  impas^ 
sive  wisdom,  and  crédit  it  who  can.  But  then,  there  are 
people  who  do  not  believe  in  love.     Mlle.  Reine,  do  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  says  Reine,  and  reads  on. 

"No  hopè  there,"  pursues  Frank.  "Longwédh,  do 
vou?" 

"  Did  I  ever  s$y  I  did  not  ?  " 

"Actions  speak  louder  than  words.  Some  men  only  talk 
misog3my,  others  act  it"       - 

"And  I  do  neither.  You  may  hâve  my  crrdo,  Baby,  if 
you  like.  I  believe  in  love  ;  I  believe  it  to  be  the  only 
thing  in  Eden  which  the  sin  of  Adam  did  not  destroy.  And 
I  do  not  speak  of  the  love  of  father,  brother,  friend  ;  but  of 
that  other  which  has  been  in  the  world  since  the  world  firsi 
began,  and  Adam  looked  on  Eve  and  found  her  fair»  which 
gray  beards  and  wise  heads  ignore  or  pass  with  a  sneer,  be- 
cause  their  own  day  has  gone  and  left  them  bankrup^the 
love  which  binds  two  human  hearts  and  which  fire  c^nnot 
bum  out,  nor  many.watcrs  drown,  nor  leagues  of  land  sever, 
nor  «ickness  change,  nor  death  end  j  which  will^o  on  the 
■amfrfer^l  rimerai wavs  old»  ever  new,  the  strengest  pro 


tion  earth  holdy-mightier  than  hâte,  or  avarice,  r»r  famé,  m 


i-''iM^  ..-*.»;  ;>*..--■ 


M*i.'"' 


»       y* 


''y^RYBESTTHINGipfALL  THE  WORLD»      241 

«loiy,  or  ambition-which  ail  the  cynics  that  ever  nùled  cm' 
neither  alter,  nor  banish,  nor  ignore." 

Frank  lifts  himself  on  his  elbow  and  gaze,  in  a  sort  ol 
«tupçfaction  at  the  speaker. 

"Powers  of  earth  and  air  !"  he  exclaims,  «what  liave  I 
jaid  to  evoke  such  a  torrent  of  language  ?  Is  this  ah  extract 
from  one  of  last  winter-s  lectures,  Longworth,  or  is  it  a 
ffientx  leader  for  to-morrow's  issue  ?  "    , 

*♦  You  asked  my  opinion  and  you  hâve  it,  my  Baby  " 

"  Havè  you  been  listening,  Mlle.  Reine  ?  -  goes  on  Frank. 

Yes,  I  see  you  hâve.     What  do  you  think  of  this  éloquent 
a^d^unprovoked  outburst?      Are   tbose  your  sentiments, 

*'I  indorse  every  Word,"  responds  Reine,  with  inefiFable 
calm         Love  is  the  very  best  thing  in  ail  the  world."       ,     . 
.      'Two  soûls  with  but  a  single  thought,'  etc.    Aveir,'Larnr 
an  I  hâve  to  say  is,  that  for  a  man  b/e„thusiastic  sentiment!' 
your  practice  IS  phlegmatic  and  cold-blooded  to  à  degrés 
When  I  am  engaged "  . 

He  pauses,  flushes,  and  look»  up  at  the  çlei  star-like  ' 
face  above  him. 

'*  Continue.  Baby.     Thé  artless  ^iews  of  youth  are  ever 

fresh  and  entertainiqg.     When  you  are  engaged ." 

i  "  When  I  am  engaged  I  shall  not  model  myself  npon  yotu 
présent  performance  of  the  rôle.  I  say  no  more.  ïf  MUc 
Keine  approves,  ail  i^  well."  '^^    . 

ck"  !!!"*'•  ^"T^  ^^^'■°^"-  '  The^i,^  cairdo  no  wrong. •  '• 
She  throws  down  her  book.  and  rises.'  "I  feel  musically 
incUned;  if  I  do  not  disturb  any  one's  mektètc,  I  shall  go 

"  po  «'  by  ail  means,"  answers  Mr.  Dexter.  "  J  always 
talk  best  when  my  remarks  are  set  to  music.  Sing  '  Rob^t 
pu  totfatme  '-you  can  do  it  better  than  the  coffee-colorcd 

— ^^^Bp^^AV^fl^  -^^ftSB^^r::^ — ^  ■       *  ■        — — ^ — ~ — ■ — ' r — w~~. — " ' ' — ' — " ^ rr — t:. ^~^ r^"^ — ~^ — "^ " ~^ ^^^ — ~ • ^ 


^frtmtÊ^vnna  of  the  concert  lâst  v^eëkT^ 

'*  «ow  progresses'  the  yacht,   FrW^^  "'  iftquircf   Locjf 


■* 


k,»3k';:!!£i*â^ 


V 


^42  **VERY BEST  THINÙ  IS  ALL  THE  WORLD» 

frortli  ;  <*ié  appears  to  me  we  do  not  hear  as  much  o(  it  ai 
we  nsed..' 

"The  yacht  wiU  be  launched  in  a ièrtnight     Shc  is  a 
daaîiijjg  beauty,  and  thp  admii^tion  of  ail  beholdek" 

"  Wliat  do  you  mean  to  oall  her  ?  " 

Frank  slîghtly  reddçns.  '     ' 

"  The  '  Marie,'  '^  he  answers.  "  Miss  LandeUe  does  hei 
the  honor  to  allow'me  the  name,  and  even  promises  to  pcr 
form  the  christening.  Miss  Hariott,  I  am  going  to  take  you 
and  Larry  and  the  Misses  Landelle  for  a  week's  cniise  along 
the  coastpf  Maine.  1  hâve  often  heardyou  say  you  would 
like  to  visit>the  Isle  of  Shoal^:" 

"  The  '  Marie  '—a  pretty  name,  Frank,"  says  Miss  Hari 
ott,  and  glances  at  Marie  herself.  That  fair  face'is  placid. 
is  expressionless  almost  ;  it  betrays  nothing.  °  But,  to  the 
surprise  of  ail,  Reine  speaks  through  the  open  window,  and 
speaks  sharply. 

"  Nonsense,  Monsieur  Frank  I  You  nipst  not  ;  Marie, 
tell  him  he  must  not  Yours  is  not  a  pretty  name  for  a 
■hip." 

«*It  isn't  a  ship,"  says  Frank,  lazily:  "schooner,  clipper 
built,  two  hundred  tons  register,  master,  Bill  Sanders. 
Couldn't  hâve  a  prettier  name  than  the  '  Marie.'  Nothing 
préttier  on  earth." 

"  Besides,"  continues  Reine,  "it  is  not  fair.  I  heard  you 
tell  Miss  Hariott,  ever  so  long  ago,  on  board  the  Hesperia, 
)rou  meant  to  call  it  after  her.  You  must  not  break  youi 
wrd.     Call  it  the  Rester." 

"Don't  rotton  to  Rester — never  did,  no  disrespèct  to 
Miss  Iianytt  meant     The  *  Rester,'  as  a  name  for  a  yacht 
\Ji  fla^  s» Je,  and  unprofitable." 

"OU  it  the  'Little  Queen!"'   sugge^ts  Miss  Hariott 
"VâVa  '-an  find  no  fault  with  that  on  the  score  of  prctti 


'\rhe  *  Marie  '  I  hâve  said,  the  <  Marie  '  I  maintain    Mit» 


^ài^'l^i^^-V-- 


.•I     •■,*_■■ 


\ 


'^^y  BEST  THim  IN  ALLrnE  WORLD.*      243 
l^andelle'  come  to  mv  aîA  !#•»  m*  ««.  u 

"  Mîf  e  I  ••  Reine  exclaims.     There  m  a  world  of  entnrat. 
w^uuiu  seein  to  warrant 

■  in  S!^Lr".r°l*  *■"'  '°°'^»  ""  """  f"  •  »o""n.  faD 
■n  me  face  ;  then  she  speaks.  .  """ 

À^^^^î^-  ^T  "'  '">'=  P"™»»*  "«la  promis. 
»«er  alL     If  Mr.  Frank  prefers  the  name-thouKh  as  Mis, 

hand  i„T./  ™Pa»™ned  meaning.     He  Ukes  her 

you,    ne  says,     a  thousand  times  " 

What  ,s  ,t  ?  he  „,„der.  ;  why  does  she  objec»  .o'CyaJ^ 

i^:irLl:?::;:il"'^'"'  "'  Mane^rseif  hass^n 

-n.and.„a.L„.h  sp:ie:^:^ .' te^eS  ^ b:»!!'    ' 
oenolders.     In  connection  with  it,  there  is  ako  «   rt« 

carnet».  «nH  p1  f       ^  .        ^'^'"^^^  P""^«  bed-quilts,  ra«. 


■W  0»  Mr.  Longworth  and  Mlle.  Rein.  Un<WJ.  6n^ 


..■I  **J- 


:     - 


«^; 


*44      '^VERY BESr  THING  IN ALL  THE  WtiRLD* 

themselves  sauntering  under  a  blazing  sun,  examining  rathet 
listlessly  the  huge  puriipkins  and  apples,  looking  apoplectie 
and  ready  to  burst  with  sheer  fatncss,  the  monstrcxis  pigs  and 
■heep,  the  gaudy  patchwork,  and  ^imng  rag  carpets. 

"^Theyare  fearfuUy  and  wonderfiilly  made,"  quoth   Mr 

I.ongworth;    "and  the   thought   that  naturally   strikes   an 

animpassioned  observer  is,  how  little  the  people  must  hâve 

*  to  do  who  make  them.     But  it  is  bfoilingly  hot— suppose  nre 

go  and  take  one  look  at  the  flowers  and  then  drive  home  ?  " 

Reine  assents.     It  is  uncomfortably  warm,  and  the  long, 

rool,  homeward  ridé  will  be  pleasant.     For  it  has  corne  to 

this— she  can  look  forward  to  a  two  honx%-me-ame  drive 

with  her  affianced  Without  the  slightest  repulsion.     There 

hâve  been  times,  of  late,  when,  without  the  faintest  tinge  of 

coxoombry,  Longworth  fancies  ^es  and  smile  light  up,  and 

weicome  him,  when  she  has  strolled  by  his  side  whither  he 

chose  to  lead,  seemingly  well  content  to  be  there.       Today 

they  hâve  beea  together  for  hours,  and  she  has  net  shown, 

does  not  show  now,  the  slightest  weariness  of  his  présence  ; 

and  as  he  looks  àt  her,  he  thinks  that' perhaps  that  wedding' 

iay  need  not  be  put  off  so  indéfini tely  after  ail. 

They  go  t  )  look  at  the  flowers.  Roses  predominate,  and 
perfume  ail  the  air.  The  band  plays,  and  hère  the  gilded 
youth  and  le  veliness  of  Baymouth  most  do  congregate.  It  is 
certainly  the  best  of  the  show,  to  ail  save  the  practical  agri- 
cultural  mind,  that  revels  in  fat  pigs  and  bloated  cabbagcs. 

"Look  hère.  Reine,*'  says  Mr.  Longworth,  "at  this  Gloire 
<Je  Dijon.     Isn't  he  a  splendid  fenow-'queen  rose  of  the 

xisebud  garden  of '     No,  by  the  by,  thafs  a  mixing  up 

orgenders " 

He  stops  short  and  looks  at  her.  Her  gloved  hand  has 
been  rçsting  lightly  oa  his  arm;  ne  feels  it  suddenly  clencb 
and  righten.  Her  eyes  are  fixed,  the  color  has  left  her  face, 
her  Mps  are  breathless  and  apart.     Terrnr,.  an^a  le.  angei^i 


m  II»  eyci,  aa4  with  them,  and  contradicting  thera,  iwifl: 


<^y 


M- 


t-  LiôtfCM  tVRAIfD  j^. 

me^retrible  gladness.     He  looks  where  »he  look»,  and  «^ 
^.Itlessly  good-look,ng.     It  is  a  face  he  has  seen  bcfoiT 
ly,  forRe,„espeàks,,„  a  whisper,  still  with  tense  grapT^ 
«Ohl  »  she  breathes  ;  «  it  i^it  is-Léoncc  f  " 


„    CHAPTER  XVIII. 

M.    LÉONCE    DURAND. 

ofth..  ™dden  white  change  in  his  bem,thed's  face     The 
t^V-l^^^^'^-     "*''"'•  ™  Petite,  ^..X 

;4;iUi::rh„^r^rcir  r  ^r^=£ 

eyebrow».  """«worn  «  forehead,  a  ftown  contracts  hû 

^^h,  »  a  temfied  «>rt  ^whisper,  «  Lfonce,  why  hâve  you 

"Necd  yoK  ask?»  he  «y,,  reproachfully  "Becn-  I 
could  no.  .uyaway.  No  need  .o  «mi„d  me  of  ^T^ 
-I^vehrokenit^th  «y  eyes  open.  AndAer'^T 
mg^to^fe.,.     I  mtend  U>  b«  discrétion  JuàL     Wlw.  u 

TbflP  «[^  in  ftench,and  tapidly,  in  huiried  tmdertoi» 


'  t 


ufi 


Mi.   LEOKCE  DVkAND, 


but  thii  niuch  Longwqrth  hears.     Reine  seems  lo  hav«  fa 
gotteiï  him,   her  corapaniion  not  to   hâve  ob^erved  him 
Their  conversation  seems  Ukely  to  be  extreniely  interesting, 
more  interesting  perhaps  than  agreeable,  but  he  feels  no  de 
«ire  to  play  eavesdropper.      The   little  he  ik  heard  Hàs 
deepened  the  frown  upon  his  face.     Who  is  this  fellow  > 
What  promise  has  he  broken  in  cominghere?    Why/is  it  ' 
necessafy  to  be  discrétion  itself  ?     Why  is.  there  nothihg  te 
fear?    They  still  stand,   their   hands  clasped,  talk^g  in 
véhément  lowered  voices,  Reine  evidently  much  exci£d,  in- 
dignant,  anxious,  expostulating  ;  he  cool,  half  smilini,  reso- 
lutely^king  light  of  every  èntreaty.     They  can  talk/Without 
fear  of  discovery,  the  spot  isJsolated,  everybody  is  ^Uected 
aipund  the  bank.     Mr.  Longworth  can  stand  afa/^oflf,  and 
gaze  at  the  new-comer  at  his  leisure.     They  are  so/tngrôssed 
with  one  another  that  he  remains  in  the  backgroiind  unseen 
and  forgotten. 

The  editoj^f  the  Phénix  is  a  cosmopolitan,  a  thorough 
man  of  the  wprld,  with  no  préjudice  against  any  man's 
nationahty,  though  that  man  were  a  Hottentot,  or  a  Fiji 
Islander;  but  he  expériences  an  invincible  and  utter  repul- 
sion to  this  young  Frenchman  at  sight. 

Nothing  in  the  Frenchman's  appearance  cortainly  warrants 
tfie  repulsion— he  is  without  exception  the  handsomest  man 
'-'T.ongworti  has  ever  seen.  He  is  not  tall,  but  his  slight 
figure  loo  es  the  perfection  of  manly  strength,  and  a  certain 
square  sliouldered,  upright  militaiy  air  bespeaks  one  no» 
«ns<:quairfted  with  soldiering.  The  colorless  olive  complex- 
ion,  the  jet  black  hair  and  mustache,  the  large,  brown,  meU 
ancholy  eyes— eyes  the  most  beautiful,  compétent  female 
cnticshad  ère  this  agreed,  tha*  ever  were  set  in  a  maie  créa- 
tures head,  hamls  and  feet  slender  and  shapely  and  fit  for  a 
pnnce,  th^lished  and  consummate  coi^rtesy  of  a  French 
man  of  the  old  noblesse— that  wa?  M.  I^nce  Durand.  tfa« 

■lia  11    mAk   II  1   :lL..  :i^  — ! j. . . ZL 


\ 


HBftB^die^tood  with  Reine  t^andëTr^Sâds  fiëWrloir^i 


M.^LÉONCE  DURAND. 


U7 


\ 


stands  and    gazet 
his    cold,   sarcastic 


bit,  the  man  at  whom  Longworth 
contempt,  irritation,  jealousy,  ail  in 
eye». 

"  A  sweetly  pretty  young  man,"  he  thinks,  "  of  the  starap 
known    to  extrême  breàd:and~buttei;-nîaidenhood  as  «inter 
Mting.      Interesting  is  the  word,  I  t^ink,  for  pallid  young 
jentlcmen,  with  a  tendency  to  bile,  long  eyelashes,  and  dyed 
nmstaches,  white  teeth,  and  an  inch  and  a  quarter  of  brain 
The  pity  ig,  when  Nature  gives  herself  so  much  trouble  em 
bellishing  the  outside,  she  generally  finishes  her  work  in  a 
hurry  and  leavés  the  inside  a  blank." 

But  this  is  Mr.  Longworth's  little  mistake.     Nature,  jn 
giving  M.  Durand  more  than  his  fair  share  of  beauty,  has  by 
no  means  forgotten  that  useful  ^ticle  brains,  and,  to  do  the 
young  ihan  justice,  he  values  the  latter  much  more  than  the 
foirneij.     Vain  heis  not,  never  has  been.     His  looking^lass 
and  women's  eyes  hâve  long  ago  made  him  so  absblutely 
aware  of  his  good  looks,  that  he  has  ceased  to  think  of  them, 
and  accepts  the  fact  that  he  is  handsome  as  he  accepts  the 
other  facts  thathe  can  hear  and  see,  without  thinking  about 
it     Many  years  ago,  when  he  was  a  little  soft-eyed  angel  in 
long,  ebon  ringlets  and  velvet  blouse,  it  had  been  impressed 
upon  his  memoiy  never  to  be  effaced.     Walking  in  the  gar- 
den  of  the  Tuileries,  with  Madame  Durand,  the  l<>vreliest  and 
greatest  lady  in  ail  France  had  stooped  with  alittle  exclamation 
of  pleasure  and  kissed  him^and  asked  him  his  name.     Many 
years  ago  truly,  and  she  who  was  then  a  radiant  bride,  peeriess 
throughout  the  world  for  her  own  beauty,  was  now  an  exiled, 
widowed,  and  sorrowing  woman  ;  but  Léonce  Durand  grew 
upwi'-  the  i..emory  of  that     iress  in  his  heart,  and  It  wai 
stîU  that  memory,  not  so  man/  months  before,  that  had  nerved 
his  arm  against  the  Prussian  foe. 

AU  at  once,  by  a  sudden  effort.  Reine  Landelle,  in  th« 
^midstof  her  exeited  taHc,  recaHsthê-fectfhatsheisTïQtalonër- 
Lonjworth  sees  her  companion  glance  at  him  with  a  slighf 


ms 


M.   LÉONCE  DURAyD. 


«tcnogarive  élévation  of  the  eyebrows.     DirçcUy  aftei  boti 
•pprcach.  . 

"Monsieur  Longworth,"  begins  Reine  hùrriedly,  «aUm 
me  to  présent  my  friend,  M.  Durand." 
^  M  Durand  smiles,  touches  his  hat,  and  bows  with  the  i> 
imitable  ease  andfrace  of  his  nation.  Mr.  Longworth  iiA, 
his  a Imost  an  eighth  of  an  inch,  as  s  iffly,  and  cc!dly.  .imj 
repellantly  as  mortal  man  can  perform  the  act,  and  in  pro 
round  silence.  *^ 

«  I  hâve  taken  Mlle.  Reine  by  surprise,"  says  M.  Durand, 
•tiU  smilingly,  and  in  unexceptionable  English.  «  I  wrote 
but  I  mfer  my  letter  has  miscarried.  Extraordinary,  is  it' 
not,  my  commg  upon  you,  Petite,  the  moment  I  ent«r  the 
grounds  ?  *' 

"  How  did  you  discover  we  were  hère  ?  "  Reine  asks 
She  is  stiU  looking  pale  and  agitated.  Longworth  caft'sëe, 
paler  and  more  agitated  than  any  mère  ordinâry  surf^fe^  caiLl, 
accountfor.  '       ^W^^ 

"  From  Madame  Windsor 's  ym«,^  de  chambre  I  ÏM0 
resl^nds  M.  Durand  coolly,  and  Reine  looks  up'at  hiSfe 
a  faintgasp.  ^v 

"  Léonce  !  you  went /«<rr^  / '♦ 

"Butcertainly,ma  Petite.  Is  there  anythilig  surprising 
.n  that  ?  Where  else  sh,^uld  I  go  ?  A  very  fine  old  mansion, 
too  ;  I  congratulate  yoiNxpt^n  your  new  -home.  A  thrice 
amiable  lad/s-maid  appeared-informed  mt  you  were  hère 
.nformed  me  also  how  I  should  find  my  way.  I  coine,  and 
al.nost  the  first  person  I  behold  is  ma  belle  cousire.  Voilà 
tout.  **" 

"AM  yon  are  Mlle.  Reine's  cousin?  remarks  Long 
worth,  and  unconsciously  the  coitraction  between  the  eve 
brows  slowly  relaxés. 

•'Her  cousin— more  than  cousin—more  than  brother- 
bit  not  so,  Petite?"  he  says  gayly.    "  Madame   Dur:wd. 


^  fwat-aum  ^i^fe^^ine,  ww'  my   beUe   mirê-^ 


r 


«•  >  "%. 


un.  sée,         f  ■ 


•K^^^^-Uw     Howisù,ousaythatwo,d.Mr.i.ng. 
••  Your  step-mother,  pcrhaps." 

?     I'«ti.e  hère.  .  Wof  d^Sï     «T**  '"''  '*""'•  »"'' 
«Wng  Uved  to«  hêr  SIW    l  be  vrondered  at,  A,^ 

coM?»";I;^iî'°"^?'  "'•  °"™''>"  says  Mr.  Longwor.!, 
«.aiS  ^r^        r"'  '"°"''™'>"  '«ponds  the  gay  Léonce 

ftilri^lS,?'^'  ■^"  '"*"  "^^  "f  """d-    Petite,  au 
^1»^;  I.^>«Ot  Mane.     If  monsieur  will  kindly  pardon 

"d  s^r^^iro^ •  '"■■^"*  -a^'  ^'  ^  - 

"  «  you  want  to  6nd  your  sister,  Mlle.  Se  "  he  savs 

uns  «toecnon.     A  what  hour  shall  I  corne  to  take  you  home  ? 
Vou  were  expressmg  a  desu-e  to  go  home,  you  may  rem^ 
be..  moment  before  Monsieur  Durand  cZe  up7 

«0 lot;  1::;°"' ■"  '^•"^  — '  «^^-«D^nd-s  a™ 

He'^a"KuÏ„7  ,""'  •"""  '»  ""=  ^^^-^  direction, 
ne  catches  Dur^nf  s  low,  amused  laugh,  as  he  soes  althn,.„i. 
he  does  not  catch  his  words  s  ,   s  ne  goes,  although 

J.7,"^'f  '."**"  ''""«  ■'  '*"  bave  I  doue  tfiat  „««Éieu.'' 

ii^^rr  ^i  e;:;;::::  j^^-^b, -poung^, .__ 

*""  *îî?'  '^'"'  ^  left  *e  Ad,  s.n™„„ding  tb 


; 


•50 


M.   LÉONCE  DURAND. 


'Mnd  and  strolled  away  on  the  arm  of  one  of  her  innumei 
iblc  admirers,  out  of  the  beat  and  noise,  and  glare,  and  i' 
chances  that  ,it  is  Longworth  who  cornes  upon  her  first 
She  is  seated  under  a  great  elm,  her  hat  ofT,  her  fair  facf 
ilightiy  flushed  with  heat  and  weariness,  ail  her  blonde  haii 
lalling  damp  and  glittering  over  her  shoulders,  slightly  bored 
:vide.itly,  but  beaiitifui  as  a  dream.  Longworth  thinks  it  ai 
ke  bas  thought  it  a  hundred  times  before,  and  wonders  how 
it  is  that  admiring  that  perfect  loveUness  as  he  does,  it  yet 
bas  so  little  power  to  move  him.  Her  cavalier  of  the 
moment  is  seated  beside  her,  looking  almost'  idiotically 
happy,  and  he  darts  a  frownihg  look  at  the  intruder.  But 
Miss  Landelle  glances  up  with  that  supremely  sweet,  though 
lomewhat  monotonous  smilè  of  hers,  and  moves  aside  het 
irhite  drapery  to  make  rooin  for  him  on  thè  other  side. 

"  Thanks,  don't  disturl)  yourself,"  he  says.  "  Ah  !  Mark 
ham,  how  do  ?  Didn't  know  you  were  hère  ;  horrible  bot 
and  stupid,  isn't  it  ?  Unutterable  bore  ail  this  sort  of  thing  ; 
but  they  will  do  it  every  summer,  invariably  selecting  the 
dog  days,  and  we  persist  in  coming  to  see  it" 

"  Where  is  Reine  ?  "  asks  Reine's  sister. 

*'  LG^king  for  you.  She  met  a  friendcjust  now,  a  frienfl 
from  France,  and  both  bave  gone  in  search  of  you.  1  will 
take  you  to  them,  if  you  like."  0 

"A  friend?"  repeats  Miss  Landelle;  a'puzzled  looV 
coming  over  the  serene  face.  "A  friend  from  France— 
hère.     But  there  x^po  one  to  corne.     Who  can  it  be  ?  "        * 

"  A  very  handsome  man — M.  Léonce  Durand." 

Marie  Landellels  is  a  face  that  seldom  changes,  either  in 
color  or  expressio^  but  as  he  speaks  I-.ongworth  sees  amost 
reniarkab'.e  change  paste^over  *it.  The  faint,  incredulous 
•mile  fades,  ^  slight  flush  jies  slowly  out,  the  lips  corn- 
press,  the  pupils  of  the  bro^pe  eyes  seem  to  contract — a 
lOok  of  quict^  intense  anger  sets  even'  feature.     There  are 


•o  conflicting  eraotionfiof  tenpr  or  gladness  èere,  m  il 


â» 


*:    LÉONCE  DURAND^  «51 

Aeiiiè's  case— Miss  LandeUe  evidendy  bas  but  ane  feeliiw 
on  the  subject    She  rises  at  once. 

•  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Markham,"  she  tums  to  that  Éreaved 
gentleman  with  her  usual  grâce,  but  without  her  usual  smile. 
«;Mr.  Longworth,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  take  me  to  my 
uster  and  her  friend  ?  " 
"  Her  friend,"  thinks  Longworth,  as  he  présents  his  arm 
Is  he  not  yours  then  as  well  ?    If  he  were  your  deadliest  foe 
yoBcouldhkrdly  wear  a  look  that  would  welcome  him  less." 
.    He  has  said,  and  he  has  thought  many  times,  there  is 
soniethmg  about  this  young  lady  that  baffles  him.  -  She  re- 
mmds  him  of  a  mirror,  clear  and  transparent  on  first  view, 
reflectmg  everything,  hiding  nothing  ;  but  turn  to  the  reverse 
nde  and  you  meet-blankness.     Whatever  depth  there  may 
bc^ou  get  at  nothing  but  the  fair,  âhining,  poh-shed  surface 
«11  beneath  is  like  the  back    of  the  mirror,  ipipenetrable 
There  is  a  sort  of  still  strength  in  her  chaiacterrit  sèems  to 
-Longworth,  that  may  be  hidden  from  her  closest  friends  for" 
years,  unless  some  sudden   emergency  calls  it  forth.     Has 
that  sudden  emergency  arrived  ?     Has  she  any  reason  for 
being  antagonistic  with  this  man  ?     That  he  is  unlooked  for 
and  unwelcome  to  both  is  évident,  but  the  différence,  so  far 
as  Longworth's  pénétration  and  préjudice  can  make  it  out, 
is  that  Reine  likes,  perhaps  loves  him,  while  the  elder  sister 
simply  and  absolutely  is  his  enemy. 

Thej  walk  on  in  silence  for  a  little.     Then  Marie  speaks, 
uw'  even  her  voice  has  a  subtle  chîinge,  and  soimds  as  hard  ' 
tnd  cold  as  Mrs.  Windsor's  own." 

"  Reine  introduced  M.  Durand  to  you,  I  suppose  ?  '  «h 
Aquires. 
"Shedid." 

V  lïe  18  Rcine's  cousin,  you  know,  her  brother  almost" 
"  Indeed?     l\\\t.  Rein?'s  great  aunt  was  his  stepmotHef 


Dw»^  that    consthulê    côusinaup"  and    brotlierhooc^ir 

IP ^  .  -  %  f  fl 


Fnwoç? 


tSi 


M^LÉOIfCR  DVRAKD 


3'' 


% 


She  glances  at  ^him  quickly,  then  laughs  m  a  constriined 
way.  *         . 

"  Ail  the  sam«,  ihey  hâve  been  as  brother  and  sistcr  ail 
their  lives.  Reine  couîd  not  be  fonder  of  him  if  he  were  h^ 
brother  in  reality." 

"  From  the  little  I  hâve  seen,  I  infer  not." 
The  responses  are  frigid— the  expression  of  Mr.  Long 
worth's  face,  chill  and  cynical.  Evidently  this  sort  of  re- 
lationship,  when  the  «brother"  is  so  eminently  handsome  a 
man  a!s  M.  Léonce  Durand,  is  not  altogether  to  his  taste 
There  is  another  pause. 

"  Did  Mr.  Durand  say  how  or  why  he  cornes  !  "  she  asks. 
"  Not  in  my  hearing.  [  believe  he  stated  that  he  could 
not  stay  away,  that  six  endiess  months  had  elapsed  since  he 
and  your  si^ter  had  met,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to  endure 
the  séparation  longer.  Are  brothers  usually  so  devoted  in 
France?     It  is  not  customary  hère." 

Marie  gives  him  a  quick,  keen,  sidelong  glanée  that  re- 
mindi»  him  once  more  of  Mrs.  Windsor.     Indeed,  in  inany 
îricks  of  manner  Marie  Landelle  resembles  her  grandmother. 
But  before  she  can  answer,  the  two  they  are  in  search  of 
appear.     The  band  is  still  playing  a  lively  nielody  from  '<  La 
Fille  de  Madame  Angot,"  and  the  well-dressed  throng  still 
turround  it.     But  the  music  to  many  there  has  ceased  to  be 
Ihe  attraction — !m.  Durand  is  the  center  of  many  pain  o< 
idmiring  and  interested  eyes.     There  can  be  no  privacy  of 
iieeting  hère,  but  it  is  apparent  that  Mario*  desires  none. 
She  drops  Longworth's  arm  and  approaches,  and  despite  the 
gâzing  crowd,  assumes  no  welcoming,  artificial  smile.     The 
eyes  that  look  at  him  steadfastly  are  cold,  angry,  smileless ,  , 
she  does  not  even  extend  her  hand  in  pretense  of  greeting. 
She  bows  slightly  and  frigidly,  and  will  not  see  the  eagei 
hand  he  offers,  the  wistful,  pleading,  reproachful  glance  he 
givet  hcf .    '*       


No   affBcdooate   embrace    hère."  thînks    Ixmf^orth, 


■i^lMt^ti.   '.'■Jii^S:^' 


(< 


La 


■'S 


M.  LÉONCE  JVKAND.  2\\ 

ïrt^.  "!*»  M«ie  is  a  young  lady  of  ^esoIuHcÎ.  «rf 
know.  tow  to  mak«  h»  displeasure  felt.  Kvidenih,  M 
aj«nd  does  not  stand  in  the  ligh.  of  a  btother  to  Miss  W 

bas  «ked  Reme  LandeUe  to  be  his  wife,  a»d  she  1^  p7o 
™««i,  but  they  hav»  met  and  parf^d  from  first  to  last  ^Ih 
the  coo  courtesy  of  ordinay  acquaintaaces.  And  this  fellow 
preamnes  totass  herl  ti'o^  ftefàctof  being  brought  up 
togethe,,  o,  ,he  other  fact  of  his  being  her  auSt  Wep-son  give 
hm  that  ngh^  or  is  i.  by  tW suprême  right  of  mutual  love? 

has  thought  her  défiant  and  brave,  wilful  and  perverse  p«r 

as  the  day.    She  has  accepted  him,  ahd  made  no  mention  ol 
any  previons  attachment  or  broken  engagement      W>v  h^ 
^ottohihin.ofthis"cousin,"  .W>y^f sh"  i^' thet  it tf 
cartying  h.s  ptcture  about  with  her  ?     Why  is  she  afraid  of  his 
com.„g?     He  has  asked  her  .,  be  his  wi?e#he  is  r«^y„d 
«mng  to  wau  and  to  do  his  ufnos,  to  „i„  her  heart,  but  he 
h«  not  the  faantes.  idea  of  takingt  leap  in  the,dark  of  try- 
ng  to  win  a  heart  already  given  to  another.  *  And  by  Ae 
Jharpnes,  of  the  jealous  pain  the  bare  thomjht  gives  him! 
Mr  I^ngworU.  leams  n,ore  in  tha,  moment  ofthe"!:::  stS 
of  ^s  own  fedmgs  than  perhaps  he  has  ever  kno,vn  befor^»» 
He  stands  and  furtively  watches,  as  many  others  are  doing, 
the  pantomimes  go.ng  on  before  him.     He  cannot  hear. 
Word  bu,  ,t  IS  apparent  M.  Durand  is  eager  for  Miss  La», 
délie  to  corne  with  him  eut  of  the  crowd.  it  is  évident  he  >> 

M^T.„'^  T  r"*  "P'""»"*""-''  "  «vident  also  tha* 
m™  Llndelle  wdl  neither  go  nor  Usten.  Her  coldly  res» 
tote  face  ttjr,  plainly  tp  allfaholden ^  'x^wHaw^ 


comr' 


-Serc  against  my  wish-I  am  angry.     You  are"  ûnwdcomT^Î 
w-U  neither  go  with  you.  nor  listen  to  yr  t.  nor  forgive  yoa. 


^ 


:  j 


«54 


M.    l/o/vC£  DURAND. 


^^P 


^etfe: 


He  glanées  moodily  at  Reine.     Reine  looks  annous  and 
distressed  ;  hcr  wish  seems  to  be  that  of  Durand  ;  she  appar^ 
ently  pleads  with  earnestness  his  Cause.     But  Marie  is  a« 
caknly  inexorable  as  Fate  itself  :   she  tums  detemiinedh 
away  and  joins  a  group  of  acquaii/tances.     Nothing  remaiiu 
Tôt  die  other  two  but  to  follovv  her  example.     The  handsome 
»nd  élégant  foreigner  is  presented,  and  there  is  a  flutter 
miong  the  young  ladies.     He  throws  off  the  eamest  and 
pleading  look  his  fade  bas  worn,  and  is  at  his  ease  at  once 
•nth  every  on^J  with  ail  the  debonair  grâce  of  a  man  well 
used  to  the  Society  of  women.  ' 
\     "A  very  unexpected  addition,"  say s  a  voïce  at  tong- 
irorth's  elbpw,  and  Mrs.  Sheldon  approaches  her  cousin. 
"  Who  is  this  JVIonsieur  Durand,  Laurence  ?  " 

"Monsieur ^Durand  is— Monsieur  Durand,   and  a  verj 
good-looking  young  man,  Totty." 

"Good-looking!     Well,  yes,  I  should  call  hira  thaV-ïV 
delightful  acquisition.     I  wonder  if  he  has  coiiie  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Could  you  not  inquire.  I  saw  him  introduced  to  you." 
^**Miss  Landelle  looked  annoyed,  I  thought,"  pursues 
Totty,  languidly.  "  She  did  not  even  shake  hands  with  him. 
Reine,  on  the  contrary,  clings  to  his  arra  in  a  way  that-^ 
really— .  There,  they  are  moving  off  together,  I  déclare.  Ii 
he  any  relative,  do  you  know?  " 

"  ^ry  dcar  rhild.  do  yen  think  I  stood  up  and  demanded 
M.    Diiraiids  l)i(.grai.hy  the   moment  we  met?     Miss  Lan- 
delle  is  heie— had  you  not  better  apply  to  her  for  his  ante 
cetlenfs,  since  you  api  ear  so  dfeply  interested  ?  " 

"Oh  !  J  aiu  not  intcresled  in  //////,"  answered  Mrs.  Shel- 
ion,  with  emphasis  on  the  pefsonal  pronouiu      «I   onlv 
thought— but  it  is  no  njatter." 
"You  only  thought  what  ?  "  impatiently. 
"Thaï  bcing  engaged  to  Mlle.  Reine,  you  might— but  it  is 
in^non5ei.se,  of  course.  ^  Oniy ^ve  know^  so^ iittïe-of  thi^— 


foung  ladies,  and  they  scem  to  havc  led  such  o^ld.  wan.  erinf 


•us  and 

appuis 
e  is  tu. 
iiinedh 
emaini 
idsome 
flutter 
st  and 
it  once 
in  well     • 


,f  M 


LÉONCE  DURAND, 


^'\ 


25! 

«rt  of  livcs,  and  met  so  many  people,  and  thçy  t.U  u>  UtU, 
»f  the  past^-but  of  course  it  is  ail  nonsense.» 

1  think  you  must  labor  under  some  remarkablc  halluri  ^ 
nat.on,  Mrs.  Sheldon,"  responds  Longworth,  coo^    ^L 
.     Jo  >^u  „eàn  by  'odd,  wandering  s#t  of  lives?'     S 
Landelle  was  brought  up  by  her  fa'her's  1m..1Z 
wandered  nowhere,  except  when  she  visited  L  p^ents  „ 
,Undon,or  visUed  Italy  with  her  aunt,  for  that  laôy^he^." 
^;;^  >--«  D-and  is  the  late  aunfs  step-son—"^ 

l^ye».  '^er  "Î^'^^'^^^J*^"^»  ^'^"^""tly  Qpening  her  light  bîae 
tyes,     her.  step^on  ?    I  thought  you  didn't  know." 

^^U:^ZX^t^^'  «ingularly  suggestive. 

p:;^^"s;;:;^tJ^^^^ 

fore,  that  is  ail  nonsense."  *-ourse,as  1  said  be 

^     Longworth  fairly  turns  upon  her  savagely.  ^ 

tor  Heaven's  sake,  L^j^  speak  out  I  "  he  cries  ^ 

.,  lajra  wuc  giovea  handv  on  his  ârm.  and  looki*«-ii««  4 

■nglymlo  his  «ushed  a„d  ir^ta.ed  face.  '•  If  rit t '' 
)^o.r  l,a|,|„„ess  le.s,  I  ™igh,  be  more  indirJn.  WhaM 
«unie  ..Chat  Reine  Undelle  s.e™s  ,„  be  afraid of  .his^ou  ' 
2°-  I  maybe  o„lyfa„c>  ,ut  I  cerlainly  fancy  l^Z 
she  ,s  „„,  o„e  to  be  easily  „,ade  afraid.  Pardon  Z  if  I  ^ 
end  you  ,„  sp,eaki„g  of^er.  I  kno,.  that  sire  ,s  ëve  Ithi^. 
«o  you,  and  I  am  no.hing,  bu.  I  canno.  f„rge,_l  ■■     '      '   . 

Mrs.  Sheldon  is  a  preety  womto,  and  in  her  »av  no.  . 
together  a  slupiaMm.n.n  but  she  L«i„l ,    ,    '^  °°'.  *'     . 

-n,...e„,   f,.r  recalling  .be  •  pa^/^b,  ^^.r^T^,^ 


i^ 


\. 


''fe  '  '  '%.- 

C|k^eii.     .511  impu^tient  "Psha^f^ 

lips  ,^  he  turns  away.    #  «il  ' 

Ififound  the  v^man  andHiei^  lô;^ 

tight  that  risel  jnê**^  — *-''    ^'^ 


lakii 


.0..  -  ^  "^ 

sting^;  and  the  *  pojs 

[Ify^ce  of  înexçlicatàe  tetfdè 
i,WilI  be  talking  of  this  paar 
',  and  maldng\  théir  own  éon 

^.  iLMfc    'i  '  7^     '■"  w^  would  not  sh^e  hands  with 

b%^n45i||g'|p|a&  lôoked  dT^^     of  him.    Hè^  turns  af«y  ; 
Afrs/peld^»^  eyei^etnit  one  ^Jale,  angry  gleanias  the^l. 
'|ow  his  m^çidy  face-     Shall  he  demand  imperioùsly  ah^ 
-  if»lanation  eijjfieir  way  home,  he  is  thinking,  or  shill  he  w|it 
yor  het  to  vo^teer  it?    there  is  an  explanation  of  soi^c 
*^rti.  pf^hat  hè  is  certain.     Me  cannot  décide.    He  will  wjùt 
t  «ircurastances  décide  for  him.   He  looks  at  his  watch 
7>-^tfe  time  to  be  starting.     He  will  go  for  hcr,  and  on  theii 
hiiaeward  drive— * —  .    ,• 

u     ^   ^^  clouded  face  cl^krs  sudàenly.     He  starts  jcapidly  in 
%^^    Ithe  <Jii  action  they  hâve  gone.  ,   He  has  an  insuperable  avei- 
sion  to  doubts  and  mysteries— there  must  be  none  between» 
hiin  and  the  woman  he  marries.     She  shall  haye  no  option 
in   thé  niatier;  she  must  speak  out  on   the  way  home. 
Friehdly  she  may  bî  with  her  aunfs  stet)-son,  but  caresset 
«^  ;  secrets— no  ;  alUhat  must  end  at  once  and  forever. 
Ml  the  heart  of  Laurence  Longworth  there  is  gene^osi 
ûinliness,  and  good  fellowship  in  a  more  than  ordinar 
fi  ce,  but  blended  with  tl^  there  is  a  toleral^y  strong  le' 
:>/  itlf-will,  selfishness,  cSnsacy,  and  jealousy, 
«jsn  Uke  him  ;  as  a  frienj^Bfoimen  may  safely  like 
Liia  ;  as  a  lover,  he*  will  surely  ^e  more  or  less  a 
,       direct  rat iq^  the  degree  he  loves.     He  is  inclined 
âll  before  hiin  with  a  high  hand  now.     Reine  must  u 
^l^j   th  at,  though  her  suitor^  he  is  not  and  nçyei 
to  be  hei  «iav^.    No  one  must  corne  between  him  and  liii 


"ssi: 


■A 


,«fc' 


V  * 

7   * 


.«^^ 


.  ,:S,       k  j^^ 


'iétê'^'^ 


•.A'J 


M-1 


'V  . 


feeU;  bu.  au  the  „ord  2.^f/  !'  *"?  «<""''  -'"«  •"= 
;ru*.a„d  puri.,  and  g«ot  s"  L,ïe  0"^ 'l^^' ^''"' 
Longworth',  wifemust  be  above  re^oach     H  '  Y''"'^ 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

SILEMT  Ajtlk   TRUl,'» 

IHEKE  u  a  gênerai  raovertent  arnong  Ae  people  « 

,    '  --t:rdtre"^t;r  r,r  ^^^^^^^ 

'""'c.     Frank  Dexter  Miss  Ifen^I!     ^  .-  ^"^'''^"g  '»  «« 
young  ladjr.        ^  ,        7  ,      "  *^^  ^"^  ^^^t  «anied 

Longworth  passes  him,  and  as  he  suspects' after  a  f.    .•     * 
utes,  cornet  in  sight  of  Reine  and  'M  I^S      m^  ^^^  "?" 
«^th  thcm.     Theular«.^h«     ."_  m-  *  Durand.     Marie  i^àlsb 

wo.ds.    -Miss  Landelle  is  the  j^,"^^^^^^^^^^ 
ennnent  degree-indeed    ?1        .     '  f    Possesses  in^an 
*!,;  I  •        ^  *^*^     «ntietd,  botli  sistcrs   do^that  ««-i^v^di^^, 
«ung  m  wonian"— a  low   sweet  vn.V      V^  u        '"'"'^x"^»^ 

^ntl^^^^Si!  pecuhar  distinctness  in  ,ts  lowest 

CM  lee  thi  r! m^^^^^'  ^'^^  ''  ^"»  «»»  her  face,  and  hc    ' 
^  .ce  ^é  cold,  paie,  ,nten.e  anger  Hmf  makes  .-like  n,.rbU 


»  ( 


\s, 


f 


. 


I 


■'Ov-Zj-t. 


*:» 


^ 


ifS 


«« 


MLENT  ANQ  TSWMr 


— «nger  aE  the.more  intense  perhap»  for  îts  perfect  oahnu^ 
reivestion.       /  ^^ 

"  Reine  may  do  as  she  pleases,"  thèse  are  hei  chill  word» 
"She  haa  known  you  longer,  and  cantforgive  you  more  than 
î.  The  man  who  will  deliberately,  for  his  own  selfish  gratift 
cation,. break  his  plighted  word,  is  aman  so  utterly  contemp. 
tible^and  despicable,  that  he  is  beneath  even  scorn.  And  foi 
anything  you  will  gain  tiy  coming,  you  might  as  well  havc 
itayed  forcver.  Either  in  publjc  or  in  private  1  absolutely  re- 
fuse to—" 

pShe  paUs^  for  Longworth^  pursuing  his  way  steadily  ovci 
the  grass,  stands  before  them  at  the  moment  One  kcen 
glance  takes  in  the  three  faces  ;  the  white,  cold  inger  oi  the 
elder  sister,  the  flushed  and  downcast  face  of  the  yoti^ger, 
with  tear  traces  still  on  the  cheeks,  the  darkly  han'jome] 
hajf-sullen,  half-impassioned  countenance  of  the  y(^*<ig  man 
Btatiding  almost  like  a  culprit  before  them.  ^>^ 

"Well,  Reine,"»  Mr.  Longworth  begins,  lifring  his  haf 
"if  I  do  not  too  greatly  interrupt  you,  and  you  are  quite 
rcady— "^  ,  #.        ^ 

She  tums  tô  him  as  he  jbncies  almost  with  an  air  of  relief, 
and  place!  her  hand  on  his  arm.     Marie's  face  changes  in 
st^Wneously  as  she  turns  brightly  to  hiro. 

"Jfit  is  tiraefor  Reine's  départure  it  musl  also  be  timc 
for  mine.  Mis^  Hariott  and  I  were  to  return  as  we  came 
with—"  .  \  ' 

"  I  met  Dexter  just  now,  looking  for  you.  Miss  Hariott  ii 
alieady  in  the  carnage.     If  you  like  I  will  take  you  to  her/  ■ 

"Thanks — yes." 
.    She  takes  Longworth's  arm  without  one  parting  glance  at 
Durand,  and  the  three  move  off.     But  Reine  looks  back, 
tuming  an  appealing,  'wistful,  tendcr  lit^le  face. 

'•Adieu,  Léonce,"  she  çays,  «  au  revoir!* 

MT  court^ously^  then  iorot  tnt  hli  ktfà^iast^^ 


,  i 


^ 


.■■7^ 


oalmuifi 

II  words 
ore  than 
(h  gratifi 
u>ntemp> 
And  foi 
'cll  hâve 
[utel/re> 

ilily  ovei 
ne  kcen 
:r  (M  the 
iTObiiger, 
n'jome, 
âg  man 

his  hat, 
re  quitc 

f  relief, 
iges  in 

Je  tiine 
r  caiiie,\ 

v\ 
ariutt  il 

>  her.* 

mce  at 

>  back, 


*'S1L&NT  AND  r/tas.*' 


i. 


^ 


BirT»r 


^$9 


v^ 


place  bcide  ^er  in  p'e  fcC    jlence      ôt    "  '"  ■•"'  ''''"  '"' 
eye.  lift  and  look  at  him      Th      ,'  °'  """  ""'  ">»'  "^ 

with  tired  eyes  that  Je  Tl'  1'^  '  "'""''^>  ""<>  '""l" 

P«*  tha.  ied  to  th.  *oZZtî.^'^:XT,  '^' 
oiouth  drW»r^!  1  r,  P":""-"!"^  »f  ""  the  Bay. 
•igh.,  dotted  with  .ot^kll?      f  "'  ''''^'  "">'  "'*  «■■"« 

Wack  st«:k.  of  facto^Thlltv,  ^h^'      k  f  ™^*'  "P"  *« 
Ihe  huge  brick  factori^,  ÏlT  ?—     l  """'berless  window»  ôj 

I.  h« 'b«,^  tSdThl!        -"rnagex^ee  nothing  of  ail  this. 

,    ..nsible  of  sunseVand  mool  risfX.  ""j^h  """^'"'^  = 
pheric  influences  •  as  a  ndr  t^T V      ^         """^  "'""«■ 

orsont^d  ^«anii^^tc^,  rt^tr.:^--» 

Mklâ?^  K     j         *ogicai  just  at  this  moment.     He  looks  lit» 
.eraglio.   ^^^  «""»  «^  contumacioa,  member  of  the 

'  «rrcrkSe^r."  '\'"^  -i'  '^"  '■»»  "« 
"^o..  i^t  AT^  *'  ""^^^^  *»er  shrink  and  shiver 

SSe  ™^„  no  reply.     ShTSTp^iJ^r"  ^ 


•u«h  upon  the  «rat«M. 


iNk 


;h«  pinft 


\ . 


.'>i. 


V 


'l--i 


^^ILENT  AND    TRUE."* 

"  The  unexpecled  çoming  of;  ^f •  DitMLft|^|i^  not  ^eii,  I 
fear»  a  whoUy  urtalloyêd  delight  fÉ^^Sjfe  bj**^urpnM 
is  inostly  A*imstake.  And^yet  you  were  gladto  see  him,  I 
think  ?  "  4;^ 

'ïe  ™|Mg  this  assertion  with  emphasis,  and  looks  at  ba 
for  repljr,  f^he  speaks  slowly. 

"  ^  f^  S^ad  to  see  him— yes.  I  shall  always  be  glaj  to 
see  I/oonçe." 

Her  èolor  ret^s  a  little  as  she  says  it.     It  i^  to  bc  wai 

betMteen  them,  dÊà  though  she  may  prefer  peace,  Nhyar  is  to 

be  made,  she  is  hot  disposed  td  turti  c(^ard.     The  tête-à-têti 

,    is  not  to  be  an  agreeable  one,  and  she  braces  herself  for  her 

part  in  it. 

"  Ylbr  sister  lardlyappears  to  share  in  voor  gladness. 
His  cifup  de  /héd/rg-^e  has  rather  the  look  oïx  a  theatrical 
gentlemaa,  by  the  way)— ig  evidently  singularly  unwelcome 
to  her.     For  you,  mademoisel||s,  %t  were  no|  the  wildest 

supposition  in  the  world,  I  should  say "      ^^ 

"  Yes  !  "  she  says,  l^toarfe/^es  kinéling  ;  "  g&  on." 
"  That  you  were  afra^of  him." 
\s    He  hears  her  catch  herb^ath  with  a quick,  nervous' souriB, 
but  sh||laughs  shortly.    «P^         '       ^     ^^"     •#;        .^'■ 
"  You  watch  well,  nionlieur  I     What  dt^n^^^ild  supij«*^ 
tiotts  hâve  you  for med ?     Hadl  known^^%under  surveil- *^ 
lance  I.might  hâve  been  on  guîg^  Fpr  the j, future  I  will 
^     cndeavor  to  be  more  careful."       ^IP  M 

She^eêtftliis  glance  rfo\V  fuUy,  «ringly,  defiantly.  "  He  ia 

^^?«>ned  to  hâve  war,  and  she  is'  singular'y  reckless  and 

4?|P**^^^  to  obligjp  him.     Agreen  gleam  on  one  of  her  handi 

^        C^hes  his  ejre— it  is  a  ring  ard  she  is  slowly  turning  it  round 

and  round^,,  A  >ing  on  the  finger  of  Reine  Landelle  is  some- 

thing  remarjcaS^è.     Excei)t  the  traditional  diamond  solitAÎre 

^e  hims,elf  hasgiven  her,  and  which  she  has  worn  since  thew 

c^^emeat^4te^^îag  never seeff^TÎHg^on  the  smaH  browg^ 


f-- 


Î-'^È 


hand,     T  le^heat  has  caused  her  to  reraove  boih  gloves,  thej 


"9^ 


A 


m^ 


M 


icb,  1 
rpriM 
im,  ) 

,t  ba 

ad  to 

c  wai 

îs  to 

â-titt 

\T  her 

Iness. 
trica] 
:ome 
ildest 


'«A 


V 


^ 


VSt^      f 
rveil-  vif  - 
[  wilf  " 

le  19 
and 
andi 
>und 
)ine- 
tAire 
their 


•owir 
the} 


-..^1^ 


'  i 


) 


*SILEN7    4XD   TRUE.** 


j6i 


ie  a  cmmpled  bail  in  her  lap,  and  on  the  first  finger  of  hei 
left  aand  he  sees  now  an  emerald  of  beauty  and  price. 

"A  pretty  ring,  Reine,"  he  ?ays.  " You  Lîver  wore  il 
before.     It  is  quite  new  to  me." 

"  It  is  quite  new  to  me  aiso,  monsieur,"  ■ 

"  Ah— you  did  not  hav#it  on  this  raominj.* 

"No,  M.  Longworth,  I  dîd  not." 

«  Probably  "-he  flecks^the  off  horse  lightly  with  his  whip 
as  he  speaks-"  it  is  a  gift  from  your  cousin  and  brother  M. 
Durand?  "  "«^^ 

"  Monsieur's  pénétration  does  him  crédit.  It  is  from  M 
Durand."  ,4       . 

'*He  h^s  selected  an  unfortunate  color,  I  am  afraid. 
fireen^eans  forsaken,  or  faithless,  or  something  of  the  sort, 
■^esitnot?"  ,  »  " 

^_  does  then  his  cboice  has  been  prophétie,"  she  says, 
look^down  at  it,  and  speaking  it  seems  as  much  to  herself 
as  to  him.  •     - 

"Indeedl-     He  looks  at  her  steadfastly,  so  steadfastly 

and  loi^g  that  her  color  rises.     «But  faith  may  be  restored, 

may  it  not,  and  the  forsaken  be  recalled  ?     It  is  nefe^o 

late  for  anything  of  that  kind  while  people  live      L^i^fte 

it."  W^^ 

She  drav^s  it  off  her  finger  without  a  word,  the  défiance  of 

i  ^^"^  V^'  n^o'-e  défiant  than  ever.     Itjs  a  thick  band  of 

I  gold.  set  with  one  emerald,  large,  limi)id-a  jewel  of  beauty 

and  pncie.    And  inside  on  the  smooth  gold  are  thèse  words  : 

"  SiLENT  AND  True." 

"A  pretty  ring,"  Longwonn  repeats,  and  gives  it  back, 
"and  a  pretty  motto.  One  hardly  knows  which  to  admire 
most.' 

"  To  a  man  of  M.  Longworth's  practical  turn,  suiely  the 
tne  emerald,"  Reine  retorts.     ^  SUence  and  trn th  ^ 


Iritïf  wïïTch  hrw  ïardly  Ukely  to^^t  so  poor  a  :re4f.'  e 

■   nrnman   " 


a  woman 


M. 


% 


J63 


**SILMNT  ANL   TRUE* 


t  r 


Thât  i>  your  mistake,  mademoiselle.     1  believc,  fct  fa» 
•Unce,  you  can  be  both  silent  and  true." 

He  sees  ber  eyes  flash,  her  whole  dark  lace  kindlè  and 

flush. 

r 

"  Yes,'  she  cries,  "  to  those  who  trust  me,  to  thost  whc 
love  me,  when  the  time  cornes  I  can  be  both." 

"And  those  who  tnist  and  love  you  are  hère,  and  the timc 
has  come  ?" 

"Mpnsieur  Longworth,"  she  exclaims,  and  tums  upon 
him  full,  "  what  do  you  mean?  You  suspect  me  of  some- 
thing;.  will  you  tell  me  of  what  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  kiss  you,"  he  answers,  roughly  and  abniptly, 
fire  and  passion  in  his  voice. 

Sheis  still  looking  at  him  coldly,  proudly.  As  he  says 
thèse  words  the  color  flushes  redly  over  her  whole  face.  It 
is  the  very  first  time  he  has  ever  seen  her,  blush  like  this 
among  ail  the  changes  of  her  changeful  face.  She  tums  ail 
at  once  and  drops  it  4ike  a  shamed  child  into  her  hands. 

"  Oh,"  she  says,  under  her  breath,  "  do  you  care  ?  " 

Something— he  cannot  tell  what— in  the  blush,  in  the  im- 
pulsive,  childish,  sh^mefaced  action,  in  the  startled  word«, 
touch  him  curiously,  but  it  is  no  time  to  let  her  see  he  is 
moved. 

"Well,  in  a  gênerai  way,"  he  answers  coolly,  «nien  do 
object  to  seeing  another  nian  go  through  that  sort  of  perform,  * 
ance  with  the  lady  they  expect  to  marry,  naturally  preferring 
to  retain  the  patent-right  themselves.     Now,  it  is  a  right  I 
hâve  never  asserted,  never  intend  to  assert  until  we  come  to 
I  more  friendly  understanding  than  we  did  that  night  by  the 
garden  wall.     I  niay  ask  a  lady  to  ma.ry  me  who  profe?sç« 
no  regard  for  me,  hoping  in  timt   to  win  that  regard,  but 
pending  the  winning  I  enfonce  no  c'aim  to  which  mutual  love 
alone  can  give  any  nian  the  right.     And  it  may  very  well  hi 
that  the  factpf  ail  privilèges  being  debarred  me  n'iay  make  _ 
Blie  the  niore  jealous  and  'utolerant  of  thèse  privilèges  be 


i 


I  .*: 


■     •fJ."!/!- 


-S/LE^r  AffD   TRUE.** 


a«1 


Iflg  Acrof 4ed  to  another  man.    I  do  not  pain  yoa   T  hcpe, 
MUe.  Reine,  an  J  I  trust  you  understand  me  ?  " 

She  may  understand  him,  but  he  certainly  has  nev«  un 
derstood  her— less  to-day  than  ever.  She  lifts  her  hea<î  as 
he  ceases,  and  asks  him  the  strangest  question,  ij^seems  to 
him,  ever  woman  asked. 

"  Monsieur  Longworth,  '  she  «ys  and  looki  him  straighl 
m  the  eyes,  "  you  hâve  asked  me  to  niarry  you— you  prefer 
me  to  Marie — you  say  you  wish  to  win  my  regard.  Answ<>t 
me  this — are  you  in  love  with  me  ?  " 

He  is  so  honestly,  so  absolutely  amazed,  so  utterly  takef^ 
aback,  that  for  a  moment  he  cannot  find  words  to  reply. 
This  is  certainly  carrying  the  war  into  Africa,  in  à  way  which 
that  imperious  enemy  has  never  dreamed  of.  He  calls  him- 
self  a  map  free  from  préjudice,  but  no  man  lives  free  from 
préjudice  where  he  fancies  the  delicacy  of  the  woman  he 
loves  is  concemed,  and— he  is  shocked.  Her  matchlesa 
ft^dacity  takes  away  his  breath. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  says,  «'  I  hâve  asked  you  to  be  my 
wife.     You  are  answered." 

«*  Bahl  You  hâve  asked  one  of  Mrs.  Windsor's  heiresses. 
ifou  hâve  not  answered.  But  I  can  read  my  sentence  ir 
your  face— I  am  bold,  unfeminine— I  infringe  on  man' s  sole 
prérogative.  I  ask  a  question  no  woman  has  a  right  to 
ask.  Ail  the  same,  it  might  be  better  for  us  both  if  you 
answered."  ^JÇ^ 

"  If  I  answer  *I  w^aMkisk  a  retum,  are  you  prepared 
to  give  it?"  ^-^>^  ^,, 

**No." 

♦*  If  I  answer  '  I  am,'  are  you  ready  to  tell  me  exacUj 
irhat  rie  binds  you  to  Léonce  Durand  ?" 

"No."  " 

"  Then  pardon  me  if  I  décline  in  tum.     A  lady*»  righti 
jyj"»'^gss.  and  yet  a  man  maj  be  çTctiset»  fnr  dfr'inJog  t»  .^ 


pfe  ail  and  receive  no*hing.' 


,* 


./ 


9b4 


**SILkKT  ÀND  TÂUM.'* 


u 


«*  And  yeJ,"  shé  says,  with  a  slow,  bitter  smile^  «^tfaere  art 
men  who  do  it." 

"  Meaning  Monsieur  Léonce  Durand  ?" 
"Meaning  Léonce  Durand,  if  you  like.    Hé  is  quite 
lApable  of  it." 

"But  àurely  that  is  hot  exacted. .^  I  think  he  receives 
?omething.  I  really  see  no  reasoij  why  he  should  be  dissatis- 
fied.  A  lady  accepts  his-  ring  and  bis  embraces  both  <Éth 
equal  readiness  and  pleasure  ;  she  déclines  taking  into  hii 
confidçnce  and  her  own  the  man  she  stands  plcîdged  to  marry. 
Of  the  twdr>she  greatly  prefer»  and  trusts  hini,  beyond  sdl 
dispute.     No,  Isee  no  reason  why  he  should  complain."" 

"  Monsieur  Longworth,"  Reiney  cries,  turning  upon  hira, 
her  teny)er  held  partly  in  untiJ  ndw,  refusing  to  be  held  in  a 
moment  loiigèr,  '*  enough  of  this  1  Do  you  want  to  quarrel 
with  me  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  give  you  up  ?  Pleasp  say  so, 
if  you  do:  It  is  better  to  understand  one  another.  I  dislike, 
quarreling,  and  my  head  aches." 

Her  voice  trembles  and^breaks  for  the  first  rime-  Her 
hcad  does  ache  throbbingly,  and  she  put^er  hand  to  it  with' 
a  weary,  hopelçss  sert  of  gesture.  In  a  mopent  h|^touched 
afnd  remorseful.  .  ^W 

"  I  beg  your  pprdon,"  he  says,  penitently,  with  a  swift  and 
total  change  of  manner.  "Yes,  I  see  it  aches.  I  won't 
annoy  you  any  more.     Petite  Reine,  forgive  riie." 

She  has  teen   overwrought,  excited,  terrified,  troubled  ; 
fhe  unexpected  change  irj  him  from  cold  sarcasm  to  kind-, 
liness  is  too  much  for  her.     She  bows  her  face  in  her  hand^ 
'tnd  he  knows  thatshe  is  crying. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me  !  "  -he  exclaiqis.     "  This  is  too  bad  I     I  , 
un  a, brute!    Reînê — dear  Little  Queen — ^" 

He  half-encircles  her  with.  his  arni.     Is  the  question  askeid 

b>  her  so  haughtily  a  moment  ago,  declined  by  him  so  cfal<tt|w  ''* 

about  to  bc  ttjnderly'answerêta  now?     If-so,  fate  interpoSf  ^ 


» 


(    ■ 


^, 


=Wheeli  fliat  h«vc  been  gaiTTtng  upon  thenj  for  sorae  àpor 


■  .  'Y 


j 


r    •  * 


.1  •?■ 


^  J    .V 


./   '., 


rr 


.»a. 


>*SIL£NT  AJ^Ù   TkUn/» 


•■•j 


a«5 


-/' 


Ss'-v 


■'S 


*        '♦ 


1«k 


OMh  dote  bchlnd  ;  he  has  just  time  to  remove  lïw  arm, 
whîn  the  barouche  con^ining  Mr.  anj  Mrs.  Beckwith,  Mrs. 
Shcldon,  and  Léonce  Durjsind  himself,  rolls  past. 

"  Reine,  fpr  Heaven's  sake  !  "  he  cries,  with  a  man'^  norror 

fa  scène  ;  *•  lieYe  are  ail  thçse  people "  ^ 

But  he  need  not  fear.     His  half  caress  has  startled  hei 
.yto  composure  more  effecti^ely  than  the   barouche.    She 
site  resolutely  erect,  ready  to  rèturn  the  quartet  of  bows  with 
,.    proud  composure.    Xhe  barouche  keeps  just  ahead,  to  the 
uiispeakable  disgust  of  Longworth,  and  the  intense  relief  ol 
Reme.     Mrs.  Sheldon  sits  with  M.  Durand,  facing  ihem,  her 
baçk  to  the  horses;  and  it  seems  to  Longworth  thà' those 
small  steadfast  blue  çyes  arereading  tfaeir  faces  like  printdd 
Piges.     Nothing  more  êan  be  said,  and  one  of  life's  golden 
pppor<#inities  is  forever  lost.        .       ^^ 
■^     .What  cajS  Durand  be  doing  there  in  th^t  carriage  witk  that 
party,is  the  t^iought  of  both;  but  he  is  an  explosive  subject, 
^ike  nitro-glycerine,  dangerous  to  touch  never  su  lighUy,  so 
"^'-'er  make  any  remark.     They  are  flashingi.th.ough  the 
sireets  ôf  the  town  by  this  time,  and  ail  the  rftbi\>s  awA  nur 
pies  of  the  sunset  hâve  faded  out  into  pajlid  gi  ays.     Niadatne 
-Windsor,  who  has  notgone  to  the  EichiNfIbn,  has  mvited  Mr. 
..Longworth,  Mr.  Dejtter,  and  Miss  Haniott  to  dine  with  her 
upbn  their  returnT.     The  other  three  hâve  uot  yet  arrived, 
but  I^éine  has  only  ;fiad  timë  to  go  up  stairn,  and  bathfe  het 
hgt  <a(^,  when  Marie  throw^  open  the  door  and  enters. 


^»**^ein^r'  she  exclaims,  with  singular  abru[>(iiess  for, her, 
^'Jîri-tlie  nanie  of  Heaven,  what  s  to  be  ^pne  now  ?  " 
■    •'  I  do  not  knpw,"  Reine  ànswers,  des^Hng|r.  f' 

'•  To  think  of  his  comiûg  after  ail  hist^Wjs^s  !.   'I  o  think 
.  <rf  hia  rashness,  his.  selfisHiiess,   ais  însaVe  fô»y  1     Reiîie  f 
^Reinel  t^is  islliin  tous  ail.»*'       '^       ..  .   »>; 

^  '^  I  knôw  it,'^  Reine  answeii^j  ' 


msane  fôByi 
agai^?,  in  the  sami^  flfespjtiriHg^ 


tJ 


s»* 


•t,  ■ 


•,f 


1 


«Already  Laurence  Longwortf  nispcc^s  ;  I  coiîld  see  il 


^^^ 


iij>' 


J 


-•^fô 


.,  k 


4. 


j66 


'*s/i£yr  AND  muET 


in  his  eye,  those  cold,  keen,  pitiless  blue  cye»,  that  •«« 
cverything.  I  trenibled  for  you  when  we  parted.  Petite, 
!«ras  tLe  drive  home  i ery  dreadful ?" 
R«ine  niakes  an  iiu  pasï*oned  gesture  that  tpeaks  volumci 
"  Ah  1  I  knew  it.  Chère  Petite,  how  sony  I  am  for  y<m 
VVhat^hesay?' 

"  Marie,  do  not  ask  me.  Hé  had  the  right  to  say  ail  h« 
laid,  and  more.  It  is  ail  wrong  and  treacherous,  and  false 
and  misérable  together." 

"  If  grandmamma  hears — and  she  must  surely  hear,  every 
ihing  is  known  to  everybody  in  this  stupid  gossiping  town^ 
ure  are  lost.  He  is  so  reckless,  so  insane.  Oh,  Mon  Dieu  i 
why  did  he  come  !  " 

"  Marie,  he  had  the  right  to  come " 

"  Right  !     You  arexlilways  talking  of  right     He  has  ne 
"ght  t%po™e  hère  and  ruin  us.     He  is  base  and  false,  he 
has  brdPh  his  promise,  and  I  will  néver  forgive  him  for  it 
No  !  "  Marie  Landelle  says,  Uplifting  one  white  hand,  "  I  will     ' 
'  never  forgive  him  to  my  dying  day." 
«*  Marie  I" 

«*  I  will  never  forgive  him— and  you  know  me,  Reine— 1 
am  not  one  to  say  and  not  do.  For  you — oh,  Petite,  be 
carefu'  be  prudent  ;  don't  meet  him,  don't  answer  îf  he 
writes,  fry  and  coax  orfrighten  him  into  going  away.  You 
may  care  for  him,  if  you  will,  but  I  wish— I  wish— I  wîsh 
with  ail  my  heart  ï  had  never  seen  his  face."  '• 

She  says  it  in  a  voice  whose  bitter  earnestness  there  is  no 
iqistaking.     Reine  looks  at  her  almost  angrily. 
•'Marie,  this  is  wicked,  this  is  intoierable.     You  hâve  no   a 

'.Right  again  i     Ah,  Petite,  what  a  foolish  child  you  are.^^ 
U  is  ail  his  own  fjiull,  and  I  say  again  from  the  bottora  of  mj 
bevt,  I  wish  I  had  nc\er  seen  Léonce  Durand;>  fReint,  takc 
off  that  ring— how  imprudent  to  weàr  it.     Wh^^  Mr.  Long. 
œrth-iHight  hav^  seen4t~ — -^ — ^-,— ^— ^m.. ^^-^^^^ 


f      f 


4V. 


"^ 


/ 


"SZ/.JSAT?   AND   TROK. 


J6; 


*  He  has  se^'n  it,  Marie.  ' 
"  Reine  I" 

«He  a^ked  me  who  gave  it  to  me  and  I  t,ld  nim  ;  he  took 
it  off  and  read  the  motto ;  he  is  jealous  and  ang,».  and 
suspects  n^orethanlcaretothink.  Oh,  Marie,  Isaidfro« 
the  first  it  was  ail  wrong  to  corne." 

stefnf '.  ""'"  ^°'.^  '"''™'"'  '^"'^^"«  *^™^^^^-     Then  the  old 
steadfast  expression  returns. 

"Reine,"  she  says,  calmly,  «give  me  that  ring,"  and  Reine 
weardy  obeys.  "  At  least  ail  is  not  lo.t  that's  in  dangera"d 
^vTf  ""1,"^^^  ^^f-î  without  a  struggle.  ^hfwhata 
p.ty  It  s  when  aU  was  gomg  so  well-grandmamma  almost 
reconcUed,  you  engaged  to  her  favorite,  life  so  pleasant  and 
free  from  care " 

aI^^  ^T''  ^"*''  '°  infatuatedly  In  lc|ve  with  you, 
don  t  leave  that  out,"  Reine  interrupts,  coldiy 
,  "I  shall  struggle  for  my  place  hère  untit^he  very  kst." 
goes  on  Miss  Landelle,  unheeding;  '«if  I  am  defeated  it  will 
be  because  fate  is  stronger  than  I.  Help.«,e,  Reine,  and 
make  Léonce  go  away.     You  can  do  it  "    % 

M^^^^'^L  M  '^^"^u''-  ""  ^^»^.  home  this  afternoon  with 
Madame  Sheldpn-that  looks  as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  stop  at  her  hoUse  for  some  time." 

daiV^""^  "'*'^'"  '  "^""^ '*"""' ^^"^^  '"""^^^-  Longworth 

"AndMr.  Dexter,'donotforgethim"  * 

"  I  a.„  not  afraid  of  Dexter,  I  am  of  your  argus-eyed  fiancft. 

o?J   ^^T''^.'"""-^'"^  ^^  '^«^'^•"S  ^'^  -^'^-^  to  do 
one's  best  and  wait."  ^  i 

The  sisters  descend,%nd  Longworth  notices  at  once  thaï 
the  emerald  has  left  Reine',  hand.  He  sees  too.the  constrainl 
of  her  manner  her  lack  of  appetite,  her  silence  and  depres 
"^"'     Miss  Hanott  also  observes  it,  and  wondcrsifi,v^ 


Z:./^^  "T  ^''°  ^^^^'"^^  't»^"*^  wrondcrsifin/lnj, 

Zh?*'  TT**  ^^  »*^^^«^n^n^7ouri  FrenchmanS^ 
»nyth.flg  to  do  with  it     In  sera,  ^y  the  conversation  drift . 


'<« 


<j 


fr<Tî    i 


^ 


s6S 


'*STLENT  AND   THURy  » 


to  hira,  his  narae  is  mentioned,  and  Mrs.  Winoior  lift,  tw< 
jurpnsed.  displeased.  and  inquiring  cyes  to  the  face  of  Mis. 
Juindelle. 

J  Monsieur    Durand-a   friend    of  my   granddaughters  ? 

Whois  this  gentleman,  Marie?"     . 

./  "No  one  very  formidable,  grandznamma.    A  sort  of  cousin 

hood^^  *'      '  ^""^^  '*^^"'**"'  ^""^  ^^^  *^°™P^"»o»  fro"»  child 
"  What  brings  him  hère  ?  "  .  '         . 

"  Really  I  do  not  know.     To  see  the  country,  in  th.  firit 
)lace,  I  présume— to  see  us  in  thé  second  " 
•^'Monsieur  Durand  is  then,  I  infer,  a  man  of  means?" 
Yes-no-he  is  not  rich,  certainly,  as  yo«  count  riches 
hère,  but  I  suppose  he  has  a  compétence  at  le^st  " 

"You  appearout  of  spirits,  Mlle.  Reine,"  says  Mrs.  Wind- 
aor,  who  seldom  addreàses  her  youngergranddaughter  withoul 
the  ^efix  ;  "does  the  coming  ofthis  relative  annoy  you  ?"- 
sf^onds'  """^"^  has  annoyed  me,  Madame-yes,"  Reine  re- 
"Might  one  venture  to  ask  why?  " 

Thereis  silence.  Mrs.  Windsorfâ  brow  is  overcast.  Reine's 
cyes  are  fixed  on  her  plate-she-sêems  unable,  or  resolved 
not  to  answer.  Marie  cornes  smftlyand  smilingly  to  thé 
rescue.  °  - 

^    "^The  tnith  is,"  she  says,  «rith  an  outbreak  of  franknesâ  ' 
Léonce  is  an  opera-bouffe  singer,  and  has  crossed  with  a 
coinpany  from  Paris,  to  sing  in  New  York,  and  Reine,  who 
is  proud.m  spite  of  her  demureness,  is  half-ashamcd"  to' 
mention  it."  •  ^ 

Reine  does  not  look  up,  does  not  speak.  Mrs.  Windsor's 
Drow  darkens  more  and  more.  ,;  , 

"That  is  odd;  too,"  she  says,  icily,  "since  I  understand 
oiademoiselle  raakes  no  secrefof  ha. ing  been  trdÂMfor'the 
operatip  stage  hersel/.     Oper/^-^^ging  apReara  to  bre  mn 


^ 


^^K>  " 

the  f^mJyTjî^é  làte  Madaoïe  Durand."         .        . 

«m 


■>■:?*■■. 


■r 


■^ 


.%■ 


"S/LENT  AND   TRUML,» 


«0)1 


Evety  «ne  rits,  feeling  warm  and  ancomfortabie,  darip» 
th»8  discussion.     Frank  shows  his  discomfort,   Longwortï 
^ears  his  impassive  mask,  Miss  Hariott  is  nervous.     Soae 
thing  causes  her  to  distrust  Marie  and  her  frank  announcc 
ment  of  Durand 's  profession^Reine  has  not  indorsed  he, 
statement  by  look,  or  sign,  or  Word.  '.  * 

Longworth,  too,  seemingly  absorbed  in  iced  #dding  also 
notices.     Someihing  lies   behind   the  opera-bouffe-^me 
Oimg  both  ysters  are  ashamed  of,  afraid  of.  , 

V  Our  French  friend,  with  the  primo  ténor e  vaice  ànd  air. 
.s  evidently  a  black  sheep,  a  very  speckly  potato,  and  tt^, 
mghtmare  of  thèse  young  demoiselles,"  ilb  thinks.  "If 
Reme^  would  only  be  frank  and  trust  me.  and  tell  me  aU." 

But  Reine  tells  nothing,  and  the  evening  that  ensues  ia 
rather  dreary  to  ail,  excèpt  Frank,  who,  beside  his  idol.  ù, 
ever  ma  pe|fect  bathos  of  bliss.  Reine  sings.  and  the 
others  p lay  whist,  but  the.é«^c  is  melancholy,lfetnd  the  card 
partyduU  Even  Miss  Hariàfs  constitutional  good  spirits 
feel  the^  depressioh  and  out-of-sorts  sensation  that  usuaÙy 
follows  ahot  day's  sight-seeing,  and^she  is^^Iad  when  eleven 
cornes,  and  she  cah  rise  and  gg  home. 

-  Am  I  forgiven?"  Xo.igworth  says,  in  â  low  voice,  to 
Reine,  as  he.hords  out  his  hahd  at  parting.  V I  pained  you  to- 
day  b»*ny  fances  ;  I  wiU  try  and  not  offend  in  tl,e  future  " 

But  he  Jaas -stung  and  wounded  Reine  nWc  deei,Iy  than 
he  knovvs,  and  she  \i  not  disp^osed  to  accord  pardon  and 
peace  at  a  Word.         ;.  '  .' 

"  Monsieur  Longworth, is  a  poet  and  a  noveh.t  ;  he  pos- 

»€sseV.a  brilliant  imagination,  and  fancies  many  thingsi  no 

'dojubt.     But  for  ihe  vagaries  of  tha^  imagination  it  is  hardly 

fau-  to  hold  me  accountable.    .He  is,  hoyve^fer,  so  far  as  I  «n 

j:once|ped/>at  hberty.tafancy  ^hat  he' pieuses." 

*     ^^^.^''"s  P^^g  with  anger  and  surprise. 


"V 


^ 


'^^        7mïajits,^Tîe  says,  and  drops  her  *and. 
my»elfoftlie,Wndpeim's8ion.'.V   *   fr^'  ?; 

/     m    •■■-vv..    '  ,        ^     '  ^  •_ 


I  viU  arafi 


•#■ 


.»'V 


.*  ir 


>7o 


WISE^    4ND  LOVE*  £rC'. 


ta^ch  half  way  ;  for  thu  bold  défiance  he  i,  „ot  ,,rep«Ji 

#    n:^"",'^'  """V"*^  ^^=''  '"«'  brave:!"  t 

«JBnarkaBle  way  of  «rinning  a  ^oman'sheart.         '  , 

,,;"Was  ever  woraan  in    this  huraor  woocd-wA  ev„ 

-o,.«„  ,n  thi,  humor  won  ?  ■  ••  he  .hinls.  grimiy     It^ 

Wluung  f.«  to  woman  ,-because  a^ot  J  Wn  ™^ï 


Vf 


1 1^ 


CHAPTEB  XX. 

"TO  BI  WIS.,  AND  LOVE,  «CEKDS  MAN»»  STR.NOTH.- 

DARK  and  sultry  Augusl  evening,  thç  sky'black 
worth  s  boarding-house  raany  liahts  ar^  Mt   .u  ,u 

Upp^g  „.,pa..e«.,  .he  hassock  upo„  „hic(.  i.  r^f!:'  °D  „t 
'  '!■' <="  h'^arvo.oes  and  laugh.er  down  on  ■■.. .J" 


md  thq  cxJttf-of 


-»«. .  cu.nes  fl.^4-ung  up.     Ai  gfae  ^^t^^^ 


•*> 


:.-^- 


'#S 


9 

'TO  BE  mss,  AlfD  LOFS."  STC.  tjl 

«.«  of  Léonce  D„™,d,  hi.  low,  «rc«,ic  Ia„gh*,-*r^ 
Zt''^l  ""^  "'"'  »,8""P»«  of  hà  dend«  figure^  ■ 
«^  g«t.cm,,,„  and  Ulk,.  ^.  light  fro-n  the  parlor  1 J^ 

Vmp.Ael.c  a„d  ma.,cal,  but  thece  i.  ™ch  tess  of  feLune 
jdm„«,on  .l,a„  bafflid  fen.inme  ca.io%  in  U,e  pale.  pZ^ 
blue  eye3  thât  regard  him.  pu/^icu 

deûeT^^^'^'"  f  '""'^     "Wh.ti.he  to  Reine  Lan. 

Why^eboththeseFrenchgirUa&aidofhi,»?    For^      ^ 
fteeld«,.n,p,.e„f  «,,  cold  di«lain  with  which  sheV«^ 

h«i  B  afraid  of  ta»,  I  c«  ««^  in  her  .ecrer  heart    Z'     ■ 
Reme-if  I  only  knew  wh.t  he  i.  to  her-if  I  only  k^     ' 
»h«t  thu  letter  meani."  ^  "*" 

a  ^  "fir  '■"  P'^«'-'*~'=  OU",  open.  it,  and  dra».  forth 
.  ton.  ««p  of  paper.     It  i,  a  fr.g„e„t  of  a  le.ter  Zl 

m  .  I«ht,  dehcat.  hand.    She  has  chanced  u,«,„   i,  -i 

•craps  in  the  empty  gratç.    ' 

Mrs.  Slieldon's  (àmiliarity  with  the  French  language  is  no. 
pea^  bn,  ,.  .s  »„fficie„t.  with  the  hdp  of  a  dL^^to 
J~jl«e  -.»  «..p  «to  En^    so  tr«„Uted  it  i,Zm 


"T- 


(t. 


>•• 


mwi  for  you  to  ask 
wlll  nerer  forgire  jou 

meet  yon  thû  oDoe. 
dangvr  in  olandw 

,^    twrtli  «Mpeioted 


B.I..' 


■^ 


V 


372 


<( 


TO  Bé 


fî 


I      ^ 


•■»»£.   ««Affi  ZiW  .'  «ni 


first.     WI,at  is  it  tliàf  ,i,  i.        fî     ,     her-housp  from  the 

is  i.  she  will  nëvè     olv   T    f  '"  ■"'"  '"^'^    Wha. 

^  -o  „,eet  „i,„  ,  :  LVSf  '  ;.t™a.  if'"  ^"^  "'''™  "  ^ 

.      of  going.    If  I  co„.d  on.yt^lTi'-*'^;.'-^  "'.'"'''••'*" 

;       eriough  understood-there  is  Im  '  "'""'  "^  "^'> 

W™  and  Reine  Und    le     nd^he^rf: '""''  ""-"" 

mustbeguilt    -Mrs  VVin^       ,Z       ""=  "^  5="ecy  Uiere 

-a  I  fane,  he  .ho;Ht:hf  c::,i,^;^J^;V  >''' 
Tliey  say  we  always  return  to  our  fi  J  i  ^        '"'''"• 

—  Oh!  ifHad'onlyJolnin  Slxt^^"-" 
•  woraan  instead  of  achild-if  m, „  ?  7  ^"^  ""'>■ '"^"•■n 
us,  o.  if  ,hae  dead  s.:!^..  co^  ^  etn",  ^"h^'  'al"^-'" 
(br  iriy  sake  liome  and  foreuneand  LJ  ■  "  ^"^  "P 
•■o  poveriy  and  hard  work,  and  î  letZ  „?,  '"'°  ''^.  T"' 
as  she  chose,  and  married  a  man  '  '  "^  """her  do  mth  „,e 

-y  frange,  .ho  .a.kedt:  rj^/s     And"!"" °"  ""  "^ 
a  is  too  late "  '  ^.       now— now  when 

She  rises  with  strange  émotion    «fr,«     .- 

z  ro^  v^  -  — r^t-^-aS  % 
If  Reine  i.anJ:r::X-oiVor;;"::tt\^n 


/ 


.««'" 


T.îïpo.sTbîelinnp7rr  toojc s,  ar^dTha^e 


womec- 


ave  ro  h.-ad  fo^ 


1 


i 


/ 


i  . 


c 


-rO  ^   mSE,   AND  LOVE/-   ErC,  474 

plotting.  Surely,  thoi.gh,  with  the  help  of  this  torn  V*«  a 
I^nce  Durand,  I  car.  do  something  UloTC  T^ 
secret  is  between  them  I  »  ^  "'^  knew  whal 

An  euOireak  of  lâughter  cornes  up  from  the  piazza.     <».. 
goes  to  the  window,  and  leans  feverishlv  o^t      fT       r^^ 
not  there,  Dexter  is  not  there  but  ail  Ye     ..   "^T"***  " 
.     ar.^dO'SunWs.ellowbi::U^^ 
«  tclhng  some  story  with  inimitable  drolle^v  Th 

complimente  wilh  the  easv  rface  „fT'  ?  ***  P*" 

-..eu,   Durand  does  „1  ^\' •'^'^rh^' '''^""' "r 
opinions  fro™  ail  sorts  of  people       Me„  3^"  ^"^  ' 

f)v.ndso..;u^H^^;ed^„::.  r,siit"n:?  rr  ■ 

an  opéra  bouffe  singer  Has  „„,  vr-  ,  ?*  ™'nstrel, 
Frank  De«er-s  heari:g_F.r„rDexKo"t  f'  ""  '" 
ferociousiy.  A  n,ys.ef,  of  ^t^Zj^l^^^^^'^T 
Clous  haze  Ànd  ail  Vt,^      .u-  "^  *="^*^'<m'»'™  >n  a<deli. 

j^^esisti^^Çt^^î--;»-»^^^^       :.: 

Wbereis  «ierelehas  no°"^  an:::^»!"''  ""  "■""<"       ' 

,    ^««>  prince.  A  POcte,s:n;rjâfe°!î:^?"f°' 
;     ?»*"'«  »»y  be,  Beedy  adventurer  KelK^n^    ^   u 


""twey  »%m^>rocurer  ^ 

Hei.  .!„  .„  adej,!  in  sundry  little  gafe.1r^'  «.d  fc„ 


■ 


\'' 


^74  **TV  BR   tVlSE^AND  I.OVR,**BrC. 

provcn,  once  or  twice,  over  the  card-table,  to  the  satisfactiot 

or  othcrwise)  of  Afrs.  Longworth's  boarders,  that  he  can  wit 

tfie  dollars  of  the  gentlemen  as  easUy  and  gracefuUy  as  the 

hearts  of  the  ladies.     With  it  ail  he  is  a  puzzle.  ,  Seemingh 

tie  isfrankness  itself  on  àU  subjects;  the  ai^r,  surfeCe  man 

oer  he  we«6  secn«  transparent  as  glass,  and  still  he  is 

ûafflmg      There  are  times  when  the   boarders  think   they 

kno^r  ail  about  him-^hy  he  is  hère,  how  he  stands  with  the 

Demoiselles  Landelle  ;  and,  after  ail,  at  the  end  of  the  first 

-reek  they  hâve  to  acknowledge  they  still  know  nothing. 

Half:pas|  eight."  Mrs.  Sheldon  hears  him  «ay,  L  ,he 

•Unds  iookingj^listening;   «I  hâve  an  engagement  «t 

nuie.    4g<yjJ /fjj^^gmam— good-night.  " 
He  runs.^<^^^"steps. 

^Capital  Œlllowl"    she  hears   Mr.   Beckwith  ^y. 

"  Never  though^€  foreigner  could  be  half  so  'cute.     You 

don't  catch  me  playing  vinty-une  with  hin)  again  in  a  hurrv 

nor  euchre  either.     Knows  a  sight  too  much  about  both  foi 

my  money— a  cool  card  and  a  knowing  one." 
Monsieur  Durand  has  lit  a  cigar,  and  movcd  oflF,  after  the 

fashion  of  the  duke  in  Rigolctto  singing,  -La  donna  e mo- 

An  etogageinent  at  nine.     HTiàt  can  it  be?    A  sudden 
tno^ht  strikes  Mrs.  Sheldon.      She  hastily  catches  up  a 
hght  shawl  and  hat,  leaves  her  room,  runs  down  a  pair  of    - 
back-^stairs,  and  so  out,  unseen  by  the  people  on  the  stoop 
into  the  Street. 

M.  Durand  is  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  a  beUever,  erfdent- 
ly,  in  the  Arabie  maxim  that  «  Hurry  is  the  devil's."  He 
does  not  hurry  now,  he  walks  away  quite  slowly,  stâl  hum- 
mmg,  under  his  breath,  the  air  from  the  opéra,  and  Mrs 
Sheldon  without  the  least  trouble  k  »ef  s  him  in  view.  Is  he 
going  to  the  Stone  House  ?  Is  the  engagement,  announced 
•nth  sucJi  cool  audacity,  the  assignation  of  the  letter?  Ii 
fee  goipg  to  lacet  Reine  Landelle  ?  -^ 

'    r 


/ 


A 


/ 


**T0  BE   mss,  AND  LOVE,'  ETC. 


A  uio^ent  décide,  the  Crst  question. 
»trect  leadmg  to  Mrs.  Wjndsor's.     Lau 


v\ 


î  cSase, 


turns  intj  the 


—  '—'^•j  n^j  luurc. 


looks  angry  .nd  lowerinl      A  T  ^'  ''"^'^^"^^  ^^^^^  »^ 


/ 


in  his  work  to  stare  "  ""^  ""°"™''  l^»""» 

correspondent  said  to    ^.rowvé  „,„  .    I  "  "'"""' 

l«*..th..wriung.0^d,«.ev^«ei,be»„.:.      . 


'*. 


r 


,>  » 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


l.l 


11.25 


■^■2.8 

Uàut 

m 

U    11.6 


•!.^. 


■''.,,f. 


Photographie 
_Sciaices 
Corporation 


¥j^ 


«^ 


\ 


S> 


^. 


23  WEST  MAIN  STMIT 

WHSTIR,N.Y.  UStO 

(  71*  )  17X4303 


'4^ 


ASÛ^,!^ 


f 


I       • 


m 


-ro  B£   tViSA,  AND  LOVE,»  ETC. 


He  flings  him  the  envelope,  an  ordinary  buflf  Mie,  and 
OSullivan  inspects  it  gravely.  *"*' 

«  Never  chief,  and  never  want  to  again.  '  A  d— d  aabbed 
pièce  of  penmanship,'  as  Uncle  Toby  has  it,  as  ever  I  look- 
ed  at," 

"  Seems  like  a  feigned  hand,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"Well — thafs  as  raay  be.     A  woinan  trying  a  man's  fist 

might  exécute  such  chirography.    Nothing  unpleasant  I  hope. 

chief?" 

"  An  anonymous  letter — nothing  more." 
But  the  scowl  still  lingera  on  Longworth's  visage,  as  he 
cnunples  the  epistle  into  a  bail,  thrusts  it  into  his  pocket, 
and  begins  writing  with  a  ferocious  rapidity.  He  writes*until 
©'Sullivan  has  left  the  room,  then  throws  down  the  pen, 
»akes  eut  the  crumpled  letter,  smooths  it,  and  frowning 
jarkly,  glances  vindictively  over  it  once  more. 

"  A  Sincère  Friend  wishes  to  offer  Mr.  Longworth  a  word 
of  advice.  The  inclosed  scrap  of  writing  came  into  his 
possession  by  accidertt,  and  through  the  carelessness  of  M. 
Léonce  Durand,  whose  property  it  is.  The  initiais  at  the 
end  are  not  to  be  mistaken.  Last  night  the  assignation  made 
in  this  torn  letter  waskept  in  the  grounds  of  the  Stone  House. 
Monsieur  Léonce  Durand  and  Mademoiselle  Reine  Landelle 
met  there  at  nine  o'clock.  A  Sincère  Friend  wishes''  Mr. 
I  Ongworth  would  discover  what  the  exact  relation  of  this 
ruy  handsome  young  raan  is  to  Mlle.  R.  Landelle— why  he 
il  hère— why  they  meet  by  night  and  bj  stealth— before  he 
makes  her  his  wife." 

Inclosed  is  the  torn  corner  of  the  French  letter  sigûed 
"  R.  L." 

AU  honorable  men  and  woraen,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
detpise  anonynr.ous  letters,  and  yet  do  thosé  poisoned  stilet 
toei  ever  quite  miss  their  mark  ?     Longworth  crushes  thi«  in 
afcry  and'^p^Srom  min,  onîy  Tô  pick  it  up  for  theleama" 
dme.  «nd  regard  it  wit^i^ng.    Was  this  acciniuion  tra«  ? 


I 

r 
t 
f) 
h 
V 
t. 
\k 
o 


T^ 


■V' 


cme,  anJ 

-d  aabbed 
^er  I  look- 


man's  fist 
int  I  hope. 


ige,  as  he 

s  pocket, 

Tites*until 

the  pen, 

frowning 

th  a  Word 
into  his 
îss  of  M. 
ils  at  the 
ion  made 
e  House. 
Landelle 
she^  Mr. 
n  of  thie 
— why  he 
^efore  he 

sr  sigûed 

f  course, 
ed  stilet 
es  thii  in 


e  second^ 
on  tmef 


**T0  BE   ms£,  AND  LOVE,^  RTC.  IJ) 

*'d  Reine  indecd meet by  night and by  stealth this stepson  ol 

her  aunt?    Well,  and  if  she  did-was  it  after  ail  so  unnatural  ? 

He  wafi  her  friend^her  brother,  as  Marie  had  said  ;  she  had 

kno«n  him,  au  her  life.     Mrs.  Windsor  had  absolutely  for 

bidden  him  the  hduse-how  then  ^^re  they  to  meet  except  by 

rtealth  ?    And  yet- the  thought  that  they  met  at  ail  stung  hiia 

Iike  a.  whip.    She  was  watched,  suspecte],   talked  of,  tbit 

girl  he  meaiit  to  marry-there  was  something  horribly  revoit- 

mg  in  the  idea.     Innocence,  purity  itself,  she  might  be-waa, 

he  knew-and  yet  one  such  letter,  one  such  nialigner  as  thW 

was  enough  to  spot  the  fairest  réputation.     "Be  you  pure 

as  ice,  diaste  as  snow,  you  shall  not  escape  calumny  "—per- 

hapsnot;  but  if  the  calumny  hâve  the  shadow  oftruthto 

build^upon  bow  then?    What  if  this  vile,  nameless  thing 

«pofc.  tnith?     what  if  Reine  met  Efurand?    what  if  she 

were  m  the  habit  of  meeting  him  ? 

Ail  that  day  editors,  reporters,  compositors,  the  very  prin- 
tei's  devil.  notice  that  the  chief  is  in  a  white  and  silent  rage 
Eveiy  article  he  dashes  off  is  steeped  in  the  veiy  gall  of  bit 
temess.  On  the  editorial  page  goes  in  a  brief.  bitterly  scath- 
ing  article  headed  «  Anonymous  Letters,"  in  whichevenr  epi. 
thet  almost  in  the  English  language  is  hurled  at  the  headsof 
the  perpetrators  of  that  atrocity.  But  he  keeps  his  chair  un- 
til  his  usual  hour  for  departure,  and  (^Sullivan,  glancing  up 
as  he  passes,  observes  that  a  look  of  dogged  resolution  hat 
replaced  the  fiercely-repressed,  silent  fury  of  the  morning 

"Upon  my  honor  and  conscience,  I  hope  no  more  anony- 
mous  epistles  wiU  reach  ye,  for  ifs  a  fine  savage  temper  ye've 
been  m  ail  day.  Surely  it  wasn't  anything  about  the  litUo 
mad-mo-zel  ;  and  yet  thaf  s  the  only  thing  that  could  up^t 
hmj  to  such  a  degree.  Something  about  her  and  the  good- 
looking  httle  Renchman,  l'U  wager  a  button.  If  I  only  h«^ 
AcwWl^MtUia*  wrote  it  for  five  minâtes,  theiod^teek^o 


# 


liar  Dcvïl  aoutiier  uionjrmoui  letter  he'd  write  tJt  mtmSà 
ofSandaja" 


f 


m 


**ro  BÈ   msX,   AÎf^LOVE,*  9TC. 


«len  ,  but  mth  au  indications  of  anger  gone.     He  «lance, 
keenly  across  at  Durand.    That  elegLt  fnd  gay  young T 

He  has  frankly  corroborated  Miss  Landelle's  statement- 

Sî  r/„'"r'  ^^8^'^^«^°^«  O^^^ober,  and  meantime  he 
tas  run  down  hère  to  see  their  charming  town,  and  pay  a 

él  T  Ir-'  ''"^"^  '"^"^»'  the  DellSiseUes'ÎL 
aeiie.  True,  the  .mpenal  grandmarama  does  not  like  him 
he  regrets  to  say  ;  she  dislikes  frenchmen,  probably.  M  D^ 

dreads  fi.^      It  gr,eves  him,  but  what  would  you  ?  he  striveî 

Madame  Longworth's  house  and  family  ail  that  there  is  of 
he  n.ost  charm.ng  (a  sn.ile  and  bow  that  comprises  alL 
lad.es)  ;  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  not  linger  in.J 
pleasant  pastures  unlil  the  ides  of  October  arrive  - 

"  Of  course  not,"  Mr.  Beckwith  agrées,  "  a  betJer  pitce  to 
loaf  a*.ay  the  blazing  days  couldn-^ïe  found.  Sa-fc 
nice  trout  streams.  pa'tridges  later  on,  co.pfortablefan.ily 

kee.  mamed,  widowed.  and  single,"  addsMr.  beckwith  with 
an  unctuous  chuckle.     "What  say,  Franky,  my  boypllu 
a.n    look.ng  well,  I  think.     Capital  succo'^h.  Mrs'  Long 
worth  ;  may  I  trouble  you  for  a  second  hel^  ?  "  * 

So  Durand  means  to  stay  until  the  close  of  Septen.ber 
fivemore  weeks.  Mrs.  Beckwith  looks  radiant,  M^rs.  S^eî 
don  c^ts  a  q„.ck  glance  at  Longworth.  but  Longworth'. 
»^iç  .8  on,  and  he  .s  absorbed  in  his  dinner.     Frank  Dexte. 

Durand  he  has  .mpxled  on  his  fork.      He  is  jealous  of  Du 
^^more  jeaipys  tha,,  he  Jias  ever  bec-a  of  I^gworth.  id.^ 
«Sou«h  that  fâct ..  rot  in  itself  remarkable.  Mr.  Dexter  heing 


e  is  CI 


-T 


c. 


"  TO  SB   msS,   AlfD  LOVE,'  ETC. 


stern  aad 
fe  glancet 
'oung  for- 
mùi  Mri. 
J  ctfntent. 
tement — 
lit  his  en- 
intime  he 
nd  pay  a 
ïUesLan- 
liie  him, 
^  M.  Du- 
hild  who 
Je  strivet 
xcellent, 
ère  is  of 
sali 
in.'l 


279 


c  is  01 


place  to 

breezes, 

faiiiily, 

nd  Yan- 

ith,  with 

? — you 

Long- 

tember, 
s.  Shei- 
worth's 
Dextei 
ère  M, 
of  Du 

rbeing 


r 


leilo.is  to  a  perfecUyfriglitful  degree,  of  ever)  nian  upon 
whoni  the  light  of  Marie  Landelle's  golden  eyes  chances  to 
fiUl.  He  certainl;-8eenas  to  hâve  very  little  cause  in  the 
présent  instance,  but  jealous  souIs  make  their  own  cause». 
She  has  known  Durand  long  ago— who  is  to  tell  how  inti- 
mately,— and  though  she  avoids  him  now  with  a  marked 
«voidance,  that  is  in  itself  suspicious,  though  her  coldnessof 
manner  is  more  than  Arctic  when  she  chances  to  meet  him 
that  only  roots  the  distnist  of  this  moody,  misérable  young 
Bluebeard  still  more.  And  now  the  fellow  is  going  to  remain 
five  whole  weeks  longer. 

Monsieur  Durand's  pleasant  and  polite  little  speech  throws 
settled  gloom  over  Mr.  Dexter  for  the  remainder  of  the  meal. 
He  quits  the  house  the  instan^t  is  over,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  Longworth  goes  down  the  piaz^a  steps  in  his  tum  and 
takes  the  same  direction.  Durand  stands  on  the  stoop,  a 
carious,  and  not  altogether  pleasant  smile  on  his  dark  face, 
as  he  watches  the  twain  out  of  sight. 

"  The  same  loadstar  draws  both,"  lays  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Sheldon  beside  him,  «  the  Stone  Hquse.  My  cousin  Lau- 
rence's  is  quite  an  old  affair  by  tRis  time,  as  no  doubt  you 
know.  Mr.  Dexter's  does  not  appear  as  yet  to  be  settled, 
but  a  young  man  with  a  fortune  so  princely  need  hardly  féai 
a  rejection  when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  speak." 

M.  Durand  has  removed  his  cigar  out  of  déférence  to  the 
lady— now  he  looks  at  her<with  a  smile  still  on  his^handsome 
bce. 

••  Ah  I  "  he  says  airily,  "  so  Mr  Longworth's  affair  is  quitc 
■ettied  ?  Yes,  as  you  say,  La  Petite  told  n-e  from  the  firct 
Happy  Monsieur  Longworth  !  And  M.  Dexter's  is  not  quite 
—do  I  understand  you  »o  say,  nuulame,  that  He  is  tch 
fich?"  / 

J' A  prince,  nriînsieur.    The  heir  of  nobody  know»  ham^ 


nany  millions  " 
"Vague,  but  delightfult    MiUiopt.t    How  exquisite  Un 


iSo 


**ro  BE   ms£,   AlfD  LOVE»   Bfc, 


How  fortunate   ar^  my  fkj    eou 


«ond  of  that  word  ! 
••Monsieur  Durand,  ihey  afe  not  your  cousins." 

wU    notsayno?     Why  should  sHe  ?     It  is  a  most  brillian 
match  even  for  Madame  V.'indsor's  heiress.     Ah  !    ha  Ï^S 
ble  Madame  Wi„dsor,I  who  shuts  heidoors  i,  r.y  flce  Zl 
I  were  «  ambitious  Wer  Jnstead  of  a  brler  Tcl^in 

.    ^;«"  ""der  the  veo^  noses  of  mesdeu^s,  the  favored 

^He  laughs  hghtly,  and  looks  longingly  at  his  cigar.     He 
«nokes  almost  as  steadily  as  Longworth  himself. 

l^on  t  mmd  me,  monsieur  ;  smoke  if  you  wish  to     And 

h  iould's  ""'t  °"''°'  ^'^  g-ddaugU  I  don't  thtk 
twould  surpr.se  Baymouth  very  greatly.     It  does  not  selm 

lolZLrZ^'  T^"^  '""^^  °^  broiher-whS 
you  prêter  ?— that  you  claim  to  be  " 

manies  for  tho  gracions  permission. 

kJke'Î'at^dlnÎ'r'VT'"     '*^''"^'^'  '^^'^  ""^^  ^^'^ellobc 
looked  at  dmner,  when  I  announced  my  intention  of  remain 
mg  still  a  few  weeks."  i  «main 

"Yes,  I  think  Frank  is  jealous  ;  but  Fra^.  poor  boy  i. 
jealous  of  every  one  who  so  much  as  looks  at  ^s  di^ 

"rtïz^oîp^"-""^^"------^^ 

The  look  of  Durand's  dark  eyes.  the  slight  s«  -«e  the  al 
«ost  imperceptible  bon-,  bring  a  faint  flush  ^ Z^LTvJ^^ 
-«n  to  Mrs.  Sheldons  cool  cheek.     But  sh^lfug    "^ ^"'^^ 
Of  course.      Ldesexve  Jt^  My^,,,i^„  ^„„^  ^^^^ 


=teî1»  a.  îfT        -  V     '    ~  "^-^y^^""^«»n  soundeA  i»= 
-iôoH  as  If  I  wanted  such  an  answer.    AU  the  sa,Me,7kn^ 


^ 


^ 


**rOfi£    msE,    WD  lOVE-   ETC.  -281 

AereU  „oonemBa>mouihhalfsohand«,ine.     Lat  u  i. 
not  M.S.  Landelle  they  saywhois  your  friend,  in  spt'  ^f'^^ 

.     J|er^  an  Itahan  song,  and  so  makes  an  end  of  the  conversa- 

Mr.  Dexter  calls  at  the  Stone  House.  and  find»  UVl^.  Marie 
rcad.ng  .n  the  garden.  Mr.  Longworth,  upor.  nis^t^ivrâ 
few  m.nutes  later.  finds  that  Mlle.  Reine  is  nôt  at  norè -Ihe 

ter  thinfts.  Mr.  Longworth  goes  in  search  of  her  and  ure» 
-tly  afar  off  on  the  sandy  shçre  he  catches  a  gLpse  of  . 
8-y  robe,  a  fluttering  blue  ribbon,  and  a  slight  solira^^figL 
*^ated  on  a  rock.     He  vaults  over  the  low  wall,  and  turnsb 

est-bnght.  wmdless,  raellow  with  the  sweet  scent  of  the  sel 

Te  pJe  Pi  k^r  '^^  ^'^''l  '''''  ^'-^^  -^-.  alLgh 

1:      »u     .•  ,  ^   ^*     ""shed  and  tranqu     the  bav 

hes.  ,he  1,  a.  ,av«  whispering  and  marmuring  „p  on  S! 
Aore.  a  goM  gray  haze  lying  over  ,he  dUtan.  toLs.     Re  „ 

*e  far  off  d,s.an.  ligh,  i„  ,hem,  l,er  lover  has  leamed  t 
km.,  ùxed  on  .he  silen.  *i„i„g  „a.er,  as  if  away  J'o-S 
the  ro,y  homon  yonder  they  looked  once  more  for 

-       "  thj  com-fields  green,  and  sunny  yina. 
Oh  I  plesMuit  land  of  France." 

A.  l^eiooistepsaj^achshe  glanées  up,  and  th.t  ptetted^^ 
^  of  welcome,   Longworth  of  late  has  „,ore  thaVo^ 
H^  come.  ,nro  her  face.     Perhap.  it  i,  only  that  "h.'- 


• 


IfJ 


-ro  âJi  wrsR^' AND  love»  src 


weary  of  solitude,  and  is  glal  of  the  interrtiptii/n.  rhen 
are  times  when  this  demure  littlc  gray^robed  maiden  seeros  ( 
irue  daughter  of  her  native  land,  when  she  knows^  how  te 
look  up  with  a  certain  coquettjsh  and  alluring  grare  ili  thc 
face  of  her  chosen  foe,  and  this  is  one.  "She  smiles  brighllt 
for  just  one  second,  then  the  lids  droop  over  the  dark  iyes, 
and  she  sits  waiting  for  him  to  address  her. 

"  I  ani  fortunate  in  finding  you  alone,  Mademoiselle  Reine, 
and  hère.  It  is  a  quiet  place  ;  we  can  talk  wLthout  fcar  of 
interr«|>tion,  and  that  is  something  which  does  not  oflen 
happen.  But,  first,  are  you  qui  te  well  ?  I  hâve  not  seeti 
you  for  three  days." 

"  I  am  quite  Well,  monsieur." 

"  You  are  pale,  I  think — you  are  not  looking  asirell  as 
you  used.    But  I  suppose  the  hot  weather  is  exhausting." 

Mlle.  Reine  makes  no  reply.  Is  this  what  he  desires  fo 
«ly  without  fear  of  interruption  ?  The  sudden  momentar>> 
brightness  has  left  her  face,  she  sits  expectant,  with  down- 
drooped  eyes,  tracing  figures  with  the  points  of  her  parasol 
in  the  sand.  Whatever  he  has  followed  her  hère  to  say  it  is 
nothing  agreeable,  that  she  feels.  There  is  no  lover" s  look 
in  his  face,  no  lover's  tone  in  his  voice.  He  stands  beside 
her  in  the  fai^  evening  light,  looking  rernarkably  stem  ind 
resolute  and  inflexible  indeed  for  a  wooer. 

"  Reine,"  he  says,  speaking  quickly,  "my  errand  to  night 
is  no  pleasant  one,  but  duty  is  duty  and  not  lo  be  shirked. 
I  received  a  letter  this  moming,  an  anonymous  letter,  and  it 
roncems  you." 

She  glances  up,  the  straight  black  brows  contracting  aftei 
I  fashion  he  knows  well. 

•*  An  anonymous  letter  and  concerning  me?" 

"  Hère  it  is,"  He  takes  it  out  of  his  pocket,  and  placet 
It  in  her  hand.  "  I  know — every  one  knows  how  utterl> 
eoBtein|>tibic  such  a  thmg  is,  but  like  ail  insidious  poison  ÎT 
bardljr  ever  failli  to  plant  its  sting.    1  could  not  deitrogr  % 


\ 


frOBg   IV/S£,  AffD  LOVE»   RTC.  igj 

^tboat  Consulting  you  ;  the  n.e.nory  of  «hat  it  says  wouW 
«nkle  m  spue  of  me.     Read  it-I  ^sk  only  one  word  of  de 
nu^  and  I  pledge  myself  never  even  to  think  of  it  again  " 

Her  face  h^  paled  slightly,  but  she  opens  it  with  a  stead» 
hand,  and  reads  both  letter  and  inclosure  without  tremor  o 
pause.     Theiî  she  calmly  refolds  them  and  hands  both  back 
without  a  word.   -  ^ 

"Welll"  heexciaims  irapatienUy,  «hâve  you  notliing  to 
»ay— nothing  to  deny  ?"  '6 

'    «n?  ''T-  ''T  ';!''*  '°  say-nothing  to  deny.    What  ycnu 
Sincère  Fnend  teUs  you  is  quite  tnie." 

"Quite  hue  I    You  met  Monsieur  Durand  then,  laàt  night. 
at  nme  m  the  grounds  ?" 
"Idid." 

"  This  tom  scrap  of  writing  is  irom  you  to  him  ?  • 
"  Undoubtedly." 

'  .  ^^^\  t^*"'"-    "*  ""'"P'"^  '"^^  ^"^''•^  •*"  his  hand into 
a  bail,  and  flmgsit  out  into  the  sea. 

«  Rei^ié,"  he  says  abruptly,  and  in  a  voice  of  whosl?  harsh- 
ness  he  „  not  aware,.,»  this  must  end.  One  of  two  thing, 
musthappen-K,<»ï  engagement  must  cease,  or  this  intimacy 
with  Durand  must1,e  broken  off.  It  may  be  perfectly  inno 
Sv  Jr  ^  ^^^  "°  doubt-but  peopte  are  beginning  to 
talk,  and  the  amount  of  the  matter  is  it  won't  do.  My  future 
wife  nmst  be  the  subject  of  no  anonyrnous  letters.  must  meet 
fo  man  m  darkness  and  in  secret." 

"How  then  arii  I  to  meet  him?"  she  demands,  wilh  a 
praud  cahnness  that  surprises  him,  but  a  dangerous  lidu 

kindhng  m  he.  eyes.     "He  is  my  friend-I  care  for  hi,. 

raore  than  perhaps  you  would  wish  to  hear  ;  Madame  Wit  d 

SOI   has  forbidden  him  her  house.     What  would  monsiou. 

oave  me  do  ?  " 

"  Abide  by  your  grandmother's  décision.     Anythh»  ir= 
better  than  bemg  spied  r  pon  and  talked  of  like  this." 
"  But,  my  grandmothtr's  décision  is  nu^t  un-'uir.    Shi 


tt4 


••  TO  SE  WISE^  AND  LOVS,^  ETC. 


knowi  nothing  fo  the  discrédit  of  M.  Durand.  Doet  h  nol 
feem  Rther  the  act  of  a  craven  and  cringing  spirit,  to  giv« 
np  an  old  and  very  dear  friend,  at  a  word  from  a  rich  and 
tyrannical  relatiori  ?" 

"While  you  accept  the  shelter  pf  that  relation's  roof; 
mademoiselle,  you  are  bound  to  obey." 

"She  looks  up  at  him,  stem,  inflexible,,  stubbornly  ju»l, 
with  eyes  afire. 

"You  do  well,"  she  says,  in  a  passionate  undertone 
**  Oh  !  you  do  well  to  remind  me  of  that.  I  ara  her  slave— 
Mon  Dieu  /  I  know  it  well,  and  should  obey  every  coro- 
mind.     Am  I  also  to  be  yours,  monsieur  ?" 

"Reine,  you  speak  like  a  child.  Am  I  a  tyiant  because 
I  wish  my  promised  wife  to  be  above  and  beyond  the  gossip 
of  a  censorious  babbling  country  town  ?" 

"Your  promised  wifel"  she  repeats,  still  with  those 
brightly  angry  eyes  upon  him.  "  I-  grow  tired  of  hearing 
that.  I  can  take  care  of  my  own  honor,  monsieur,  believe 
me,  although  I  should  never  be  raiseS  to  that  dignity." 

"  I  never  doubted  it,  but  I  do  doubt  your  power  to  silence 
slanderous  tongues,  ready  to  put  the  most  vicious  çonstruc-  . 
tion  on  the  most  virtuous  actions.  Do  you  think  the  writei 
rf  that  letter  did  not  know  his  nian  ?  do  you  tliink  any  otheî 
words  in  human  power  to  write  could  hâve  struck  home  as 
thèse  did?  Reine,  you  are  but  a  chlld  in  years— in  the 
ignorance  of  innocence  you  think  you  can  brave  and  def> 
the  world.  I  tell  you,  no  !  it  will  crush  and  defeme  you 
without  pity  or  mercy.  Let  me  be  your  shield  from  it,  as 
you  hâve  given  me  the  right  to  be.  Let  riie  go  to  Mrs. 
Windsor  and  appeal  to  her  to  withdraw^  ïhis  injunction 
against  your  friend.  I  think  I  hâve  influence  enough  foi 
that,  and  if  you  must  see  him,  let  him  corne  to  the  house 
opcnly  and  like  a  man,  and  in  the  facç  of  ail  the  world.  Saj 
jtfie  word  and  I  wil!  speak  to  her  this  veiy  evening." 


/ 


♦♦  Not  foi.  worl^ds  !  "  criei  Reine,  passion» tely—"  not  for  f  • 


f 


"^ 


'*rO  BE   WISE^  AND  LOVE,''   ETC. 


»«S 


/ 


Ihousand  worldj  I  Whkt  I  after  ail  her  insult»  ta  the  ineniorj 
of  my  dear  dead  father,  her  taunts  of  our  poverty  and  de 
pendence,  which  she  makes  us  feel  eveiy  hour  of  our  lives, 
I  send  you  to  plead  with  with*  her -.for  Léonce  l#  Oh  1  I 
hâve  indeed  faUen  low  when  I  sit  and  listen  eveu  to  jiuch  a 
proposai  !" 

"  I  meant  it  in  good  faith.     Do  you  then  prefersfealing 
ont  to  meet  him  after  dark  in  the  grounds  ?    Do  you  intend 
to  persist  in  doing  so  ?  " 
"And  whatifldo?" 

"  The  what  is  very  simple.  I  resign,  at  once,  and  forever, 
any  slight  claim  I  at  présent  possess  to  influence  youi 
actions,  and  leave  you  altogether  free  to  meet  M.  Léoncç 
Durand  when,  ànd  where,  and  how  yo\x  ple^e.  Only,  foi 
your  own  sake,  mademoiselle,  let  the  trystibg.|jour  l^e  broad 
day,  the  trysting-place  where  ail  the  world  mây  see."' 
She  looks  up  at  hîm,  deadly  pale,  and  rises  to  her  feet. 
"  Monsieur,"  she  says,  "  I  will  never  forgive  you  this  last 
insuit  to  the  day  of  my  death." 

"there  are  many  things  you  refuse  to  forgive  me,  Made- 
moiselle -Reine,"  heanswers  ;  «one  added  can  hardly  signify. 
And  I  hâve  no  intention  of  f|Hng  you  insuit— nothing  ii 
further  from  my  thoiights.  Ifl  did  not  cajrffor  you  in  a  way 
and  to  an  extent  that  makes  me  dpspis?  myself,  do  you 
thmk  I  would  stand  hère  waming  you  ?  Reine,"  he  crie», 
fiercely,  «'  cannot  you  see  that  I  love  youJove  you  so  well 
that  it  maddens  me  to  jdoubt  you  ?  " 

"Oh  !  indeed,  do  yo;i  love  me?"  she  Says,  ivith  wonder^ 
ang  scom,  stiH  pale  to  lividness,  and  with  quivering  lips. 
y  You  guard  your  secret  well.  I  could  never  hâve  guessed 
it.  Will  you  pardon  me  if,  even  after  your  tender  déclara- 
tion, I  still  doubt  the  fact  ^  " 

^  He,  too,  is  starriingly  paie,  and  tbere  is  certainly  very  Uttlr-= 
of  lover-s  look  or  tone  about  him.     And  /et  in  his  vcic 
Uierc  u  passiooate  pain,  passionate  lon^ng,  passion^  f^ 


■^% 


♦*' 


486 


'*ro  B£    HriS£,   AND,  love:-  ETC. 


.„  A 


.^.  cm':;  "i:,:/""  ■":  "-Sh.  I  ca,„e  «,  ,ou  C^.h  oS  ■ 

.orne  rig  t  ^ZîhaT    Y      ?•     '^"'"""'  '  """  «'«"  ^^  ^ 
1.11  .„     ,.;-    *^  that— if  so,  I  noi»  withdra» ihat riirht      l 

•' vJïr^  ''*'"  °"''  "'^''^^^  «'^^  »P  Durand  ?  "  .  , 

..  ,r  ^°^'  «*"»«  "P  Durand  mean,  monsieur  ?  » 

telling  me  exactly  what  he  is  to  you  " 
;;  I  hâve  already  told-my  auntV  step-son." 

looks  earn„  fi    "  .    1  ^        '    "^  ^^^^  l^*^»"  hands  and 

looKs  earnestly  mto  her  eves  •   "  inrï»^^  t  i 


•*Yoa^  fi6t>a«t"uie." 


h 


J 


6/ 


J 


fH, 


•tr^'  '%• 


-  rp  S£   IVJSE,   AI^D  LOyji,"   ETC. 


i 


V     "Icannot"        "  ' 

- WUlyou  te.  «e  this  at  least-was  he  évcr  youc  lare. ?      - 
She  hésitâtes  and  halfaveitsher  face.  -  . 

"He^as^t  i  boy.     lie  ww.aot  old  cqoujrh    (o   ht 

"Still  hc  was-^you  do  not  ^y  it."'    ; 
Jonewth.     1    never.„cantanytl>ing.     H.  was  only  a  boy.'" 

•  Answer  me  ihis  at  least;  what  bring,  him  hère  ? 

*  Icannot."  . 
" Not  even  this ?" 

*•  Not  ev.en  this.     My  prSmise^U  giv«»ii." 

"  A  promise  to  Dirt-and ?"  ^  . 

1  .L?t!f '""■'  '  'k"^''°'''  ^""^  ^^  "°^  ^  '»<^-    ^  «««ot  telL 
I  can  tell  you  nothing— now."  J  *.  ««•    ^ 

'' WilUhe  day  ever  c^pe  when  you  can>"        '     '  ^'    T 

liope  so,  but  I  do/ot  know.     Oh  I  monsieur,  let  us  end  this 
-I  foresee  noth.ng  but  trouble  w,ll  corne  of  it     My  "^  ' 

^ÎcalTTt  ''°"  r '°"^^*'^  t^yingtotrusfmrand 
you  cam^ot      Let  us  nuke  an  end.     It  is  not  yét  too  late 

Nothmg  .s  done  that  cannut  be  undone,  and  I  L  T.^Toi 

your  frcedo,n  and  thcn  thèse  secrets  and  hidden  troîblts  of 
mine  need  d.sturb  you  no  more.     Monsieur  Longwôrth  J 

Tit^he^;.  '^^"  '""^  '-'  "'  ^  ^  ^-  '«-^  --  '^- 

"  ^  ^^"  t°  'hi"k  so,"  he  anàwer^  bitterly,  "  éince  this  i. 
to  go  on  mdefinuely.     I  had  hiped-but  wLt  does  it^" 

ter  now.     Il  you  had  cared  for  me -"  —.  *     ♦       A... 

^^«tops.vàthf  in  i„,paiientgesture,  and  moves  aw.ya  fci^ 
■iqpj.     »«en  he  cornes  again  and-stands  befôre  her.  \ 

You  told  me  that  night,"  6è  says,  with  au  impetuoàt,  ^ 


^  ^-w 


,*.»■:»- 


il  lMij^B.ji»lii>><y  iliiLiiiiuiLiij  iii.imni'"ii  >„'M.«-'I 


iU 


"TO  BR   WISE,   AND  LOVE**  MTC 


„<f* 


.V 


dut  ia  as  unlike  his  usual  manner  as  this  deepljr  tnored,  pa» 
Konate  mah,  is  unlike  the  phlegmatic  Longworth  Baymoutk 
knoWs,  "  that  you  did  not  absolûtely  dislike  me.  How  is  it 
now  ?     Hâve  I  corapelled  your  dislike  again  ?" 

" No,"  she  slowly  answers,  "you  hâve  not.  I  ought  never 
10  havedisliked  you,  for  youVere  good  to  us,  M.  Longworth, 
ind  meant  well.  But,  oh  !  believe  me,  it  would  hâve  beei. 
I<«ttet  if  you  had  never  let  us  come," 

He  goes  on  withoui  h  ;eding  her  last  words  : 
•'  iTou  own  you  do  not  dislike  me.     It  seems  a  difficult 
ihii^  to  drav^  admissions  from  you,  but  will  you  admit  also 
that  it  raay  be  possible  for  you  ône<ttay  to  care  for- me  ?  " 
"  I  think — it  may  be  possible." 
•'  No  one  else  has  any  daim  on  you  ?  " 
"  No  one  in  ail  the  world." 

"Then  I  will  wait,"  he  says,  eamestly,  ««and  while  I  wait 
basL     Only  be  prudent.     I  will  not  hurry  your  décision  ;  I 
will  give  you  time.      No,  do  not  speak;    I  hâve  more  at 
Btdke  than  you  give  me  crédit  for,  and  you  are  excited  anJ 
annoyed  now.     I  will  wait  for  your  décision,  and  I  believe 
you  will  corne  to  me  one  day  soon,  and  of  your  own  choice 
tell  me  ail.     Reine"— once  again  he  takes  her  hands— "  how 
shall  I  convince  you  you  hâve  no  tnier  friend  than  I— no 
one  in  ail  the  world  you  can  more  implicitly  rely  on  ?     If  I 
hâve  been   iniperious,  pardon  me;    if  I  felt  less  deeply   I 
might  be  more  collected  and  courteous  ;  but  my  whole  heart 
has  gone  out  to  you,  and  I  cannot  recall  it  if  I  would.     Think 
this  over,  dear,  and  corne  to  me  and  tell  me  your  troubles.     1 
can  be  Durand's  friend  as  well,  if  he  needs  one,  for  your  sake.* 
She  withdraws  her  hands  and  covers  her  face,  moved  to 
fier  veiy  heart 

"Oh  l  /iu  are  good,  you  are  kind,  you  are  generou6,"  it^ 
lâ/8,  in  a  gtMed  yoice;  "but  it  is  ail  in  vain.   4  hâve no^ 


nght  :o  «peak  ;  I  am  bound  by  promise,  uA  \  qMUidt  b«trai 


^ 


io?ed,  pâ» 
Baymoutb 
How  is  it 

ilght  never 
ongworth, 
liave  beei 


a  diflicult 
ïdmit  also 
me?" 


ile  I  wait 
ïcision  ;  I 
more  at 
:ited  and 
I  believe 
m  choice 
s — "  how 
in  I — no 
n?    If  I 
deeply    I 
oie  heart 
Think 
ibles.     1 
ur  sake." 
loved  to 

luve  BO^ 


"ras  Jt/vALs» 


289 


'^  slight  caress 


fore  she  can  speak  or  look  u»,  is  eo^       rm    v  u 
awakens  «àthin  her  a  curious^ôrl  nfT %  ^  ^^''^  ''^'^'' 

eyc»,a„dsometàingsLlrZ7''^l''^'^"'"«  '"  "^^ 
before  her  at  AeTlll  ""°''""^'  ^^  ^«"''^  ^lankly 


t:HAPTEK.  XXL 

[RANK,"  says    Miss   Hariott,   «answcr    me    tlu.. 
H  spra.Tha''  ''"  ""''  ^^"  ""^  -  ^-^^« 

did  you  not  ?  -^  ^''^  ^°"'  ^  «*/»  »' 


A. 


HMm 


>mm>'mm<mHm 


•90 


-ras  RiVALs." 


*'On  boafd  the  Hesperia  was  three  whole  mcnuu  ago 
Ho«r  is  a  fellow  to  cany  his  mind  back  over  such  a  period 
as  that  ?  I  remember  well  enough  your  saying — (need  I 
mention  that  every  saying  of  yours  is  indelibly  iniprinted  on 
this  heart) — that  you  preferred  Baymouth  to  Venice.  If  I 
prefsr  it  to  Geoigia  in  August,  who  is  to  blâme  me  ?  Not 
ysu,  Miss  Hariott;  so  smooth  away  that  frown,  and  smile 
once  more  on  the  most  abject  of  youi  adorers." 

Miss  Marie  Landelle,  sauntering  by  Frank's  side,  her  pink- 
lined  parasol  casting  a  faint  roseate  glow  over  her  i^earl  fait 
face,  laughs  faintly.  Thèse  ttaro  are  in  front  ;  behind  corne 
Mr.  Longwortb  and  Reine;  Miss  Hariott,  in  the  center, 
skips  over  the  puJdIes  unsupported,  suflicient  unto  herself. 
The  whole  party  are  bound  for  the  Baymouth  croquet  ground, 
being  members,  one  and  ail,  of  the  Baymouth  Croquet  Club. 

"  This  is  ail  very  fine,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  with  increased 
severity  ;  "  but  as  you  hâve  survived  the  Georgian  beats  foi 
the  past  seventeen  or  eighteen  years,  don't  you  think  the 
delicacy  of  your  constitution  niight  survive  them  once  more  ? 
Last  night  I  receivod  a  letter  from  your  respected  maternai 
parent,  making  four  anxious  epistles  in  ail,  imploring  me  in 
pathetic  languagc  to  inform  her  truly,  and  at  once,  what  il 
is  that  holds  you  spell-bound  in  this  duU  town.  That  letter, 
young  sir,  I  shall  answer  before  I  sleep.  Frank,  I  conjure 
you  !     Wl)||t  am  1  to  say  to  your  niother  ?  " 

A  flush  rises  over  Frank's  sun-brown  cheek — hc  casts  1 
quick  glance  at  his  companion,  but  that  lovely,  serene  face 
looks  calm  and  more  unconscious  than  the  suinmer  sky,  th« 
woiulerfiil,  yellow  brown  eyes  gaze  straight  before  into  space 
and  are  as  nearly  ex[)ressionless  as  beautiful  eyes  can  be. 
The  3-oung  man  sighs  iinpatiently,  and  switches  the  lieada 
off  wayside  daisies  and  dandelions  mth  a  quick,  pétulant 
motion.  Evcry  Jay thç  last  state  of  this  young  Oeorguuv 
grows  worsé  than  the  first,  every  day  lie  becomes  a  greatei 
coward,  in  the  very  intensity  of  his  passion.     Ever}  day  hf 


l"i 


icnuM  ago 
ch  a  periot! 
g — (need  I 
iprinted  on 
nice.  If  I 
me  ?  Not 
and  smile 

e,  her  pink- 
r  i>earl  faii 
ïhind  coiiie 
the  center, 
[ito  herself. 
aet  ground, 
quet  Club, 
t  increased 
n  beats  foi 
1  think  the 
mec  n»ore  ? 
i  maternai 
ring  me  in 
ce,  what  it 
^hat  letter, 
I  conjure 

■he  casts  i 
erene  face 
er  sky,  the 
into  space 
:s  can  be. 
the  lieada 
i,  pétulant 
"Cfcorguuï 
s  a  greatei 
er)  day  hf 


-  ras  xiyALs."  ^, 

291 

The  «me  ,w.e.  smile  11^,.       """>'  °'  '"'  '"'«"'^e- 
P.-"S.     If  hc  trtlt Tne  n"™''«'  ^'"'  ^'>-''  ■■" 

Veal,  .„,,  ,he  d,tad !«  U  v'""h     Tl'  ""  "'"'■     "  '" 
présence,  hope  «rdie  Iwl  'k         .'  ^  ""'"'  *<""  '>^' 

«"  «n«  /hi,  ....f  rX"  ri.:^^  riir^"^  rr 

Bilence  gold."  «peech  is  silver  and 

"Some  speech  maybcsilver-  x^o-ir.  .« 
e.nptyri„gofhollow  brass    Tour  r  ^*  ™^"'  ''"  *'»« 

-  -ts  rarity  ;   bpt  at  p"  ent  r^ITl  "  f '"'  '  ^'°''' 

v^^'b?o\Stl>Cef:;L^^^  ^e 

Tell  her  I  am  ail  rieht  InTh  ?    °'™*'  '*"'^'  "'«"«h' 

-y  I  shouW  go  a 'd  t^at  t?^  ?"'^  '^  ^"  *">  '"  ^^^ 
fi'st  trip  shallté    :te    er      rn  :Î^^    "  ^""''^^  •»- 

..  v         "  """^^  ■»*"  promise  more  ?  " 
"CZ^I  "''  ^°  ""'"  *^  ^*^'"  '»  launched?" 

building  a  yacht  "  *"'  '"*'"'!^4'^''  '"''  °^  '  ^"^ 

"V«>  ,,ell,"  «yrg  Mias  Hariott,  ^edlv    «  i 


1*. 
«4 


h' 


ai'Sad.ij-* 


mmm0am 


I 


2Q2 


"  r^F.    RIVALS." 


^well  gct  my  spare  bedroom  reacly  ;  for  the  closing  jnes  ol 
youi  niother's  letter,  Frank,  are  thèse  :  *  If  that  wrctched  boj 
does  not  leave  Bayinouth  this  week  I  will  be  theje  next,  to 
fetch  him.'  " 
Frank  laughs. 

"  By  George  I  "  he  says,  "  let  her  conne  by  ail  meani, 
|liàs  Hariott.  I  shall  be  unconimonly  glad  to  see  the  poa 
Kttle  mater,  and  then  I  can  take  her  home  in  the  yacht 
Miss  Landelle,  willyou  not  corne,  too?  You  will  enjoy  the 
trip,  I  ani  sure." 

"  Are  you  ^  "  responds  Miss  Landelle  ;  "  then  I  am  not 
at  ail  sure.  Do  you  forget,  Mr.  Frank,  that  I  am  alwayi 
Hca-sick,  that  I  cannot  sail  down  the  bay  in  the  cahnesl 
weather  without  being  ill  ?  I  should  like  the  yacht  and  the 
Company,  but  not  the  mal  de  mer.  I  think  you  must  ask 
Reine  instead." 

"  Mlle.  Reine  is  asked  of  course — that  goes  without  say- 
ing.  But  you  " — Frank's  voice  drops  almost  to  a  whisper  in 
the  intensity  of  his  eagerness — **  Miss  Landelle,  surely  you 
will  not  refuse  me  this  pleasure.     If  y  ou  knew  how  I   hâve 

looked  forward  to  it,  how  ail  this  summer " 

"  We  are  late,"  interrupts  Miss  Landelle,  with  placid  in- 
différence :  "  see,  they  aire  playing.  Had  we  not  bettcr 
"valk  on  a  little  faster,  Mr.  Frank  ?  " 

The  words  are  checked  on  his  lips  as  they  hâve  becn 
checked  many  à  time  before.  Her  callm  unconsciousness 
is  impénétrable,  ail  his  enthusiasm  falls  flat  before  it.  Hp 
obeys  in  silence,  and  they  leave  the  group  behind,  and 
hasten  forward  tp  the  croquet-players. 

At  the  gatea'blear-eyed  beggar  sits  crouched  in  the  sun, 
holding  out  his  hat  and  whining  for  alms.  They  pass  him 
nnheeded,  only  Reine  stops  abruptly,  goes  over  and  ad- 
diesses  him. 


._ .  ■   ■ — ■  ^ ■ — — — — ■    -.^  .  -  ■ __ — --■    ..-  ..  ^ j<—  ~^ — ..  ^-- _zZ-"~ ■■■■  "-— — — —  ■■■ — 

*♦  Wh?t  nonsensei"  exclaims  Yongworth,    impatiently , 
■'  it  is  that  drunken  old  scoundrel  Jackson,  who  got  thii^ 


THB.    ttVALS.*' 


n\ 


iar»  for  ragrancyand  drunkenne.s.  and  has'ius.  ..™    i 
his  terni.     Now  ch^  ;„  „;  •       ,•  "»?  just  «erved  oui 

.hall  s,op  horlsuch  a    on    "'m  ' "■''9-*^^l-'^yi    I 

everlasiin^.  '  ^     °  "''  "'-"^  ">  «"^  ™"cy  and  life 

«m/r^Th'"'"'"""''  """»  "'"  """  ™''  for  Reine  ,„ 
"nge,  on  .^.  /a' llfo^       '  'uf  r,',  "l;:",?-  "^  *" 

him.  '^°"e^°'-^h  chooses  to  grunible  when  she  rHoins 

ple'A'etr  iflhrli;'^  -Posed  «pon  by  thèse  peo-  ^ 

^own      He  dnnks,  he  stcals,  he  beats  his  wife      H.      n 
go  straight  from  hère  and  get  drûnk  on  11  '^'" 

"  But  such  a  notorious  old  fraud •• 

.y/foMong'&Tnrf''"'' '''■"''';  '"=  '''^  "•>'«-'- 


•v  .x^.  «^uKcrmortais  whodo?'*  ^ 

J.C,,  l.u.  Mon..  D^and  .o,n«  „p  „  U,.  «n^nt  ^^ 


F 


•mf 


»9i 


THE  XIVj^» 


"  I  hâve  bcen  waîting  for  you,  Pc-iitc,"  U  say.  ,  iomjffuf 
Mr.  Longworth.  Are  you  the  originator  of  this  philanthropH 
•cheme  I  hear  them  dîscussing,  or  is  it  Miss  îlariott  ?  " 

"  What  philanthropie  schenie  ?"  inquires  Longworth,  shct 
7.     "  I  hâve  originated  none.** 

"Then  it  must  be  the  ever  excellent- Miss  Hariott  !  A 
■cheme  to  help  thèse  poor  people,  killed  in  the  late  mill  ex 
plosion  the  other  day " 

"As  thèse  poor  people  are  dead  and  buried,  Mons.  Du 
rand,  I  should  imagine  they  were  past  helping  by  any  schenie, 
however  philanthropie,"  interrupfs  Longworth,  grimly 

"Ah  I  pardon,"  Durand  laughs,  "it  is  that  I  express  my 
•elf  so  badly.  No,  no,  to  help  the  families,  the  widow,  anc 
the  orphan.  .  I  hâve  left  thein  discussing  the  project  instead 
of  playing  the  croquet,  and  waiting  for  you  to  corne.  Could 
they  décide  upon  anything  in  this  town  witliout  you,  mon- 
sieur, I  ask  ?  " 

He  asks  it  with  a  shrug,  and  a  s.nile  at  Reine,  and  Reine 
hastily  interposes,  for  she  sees  an  ominous  knitting  of  Lonir. 
worth's  brows.  * 

"  I  dare  say  Miss  Hariott  did  originate  it,"  she  says  ;  "  she 
w  one  of  the  chief  sufferers  always  by  thèse  dreadful  'things 
-she  bleeds  m  heart  and  pocket  alike.  What  is  the  présent 
proposai,  Léonce  ?" 

"Proposai!     Their  name  is  légion.     A   fancy  fair,  says 
one  lady,  a  charity  bail  says  another,  a  concert  sa  's  athird 
with  M.  Durard  for  primo  tenore,  and  Mlle.  Reinefor  prima 
donna.      F  say  no,  no,  no,  to  ail— let  us  hâve  a  play." 

"  r  second  the  motion,"  says  Miss  Hariott  when  they  hav. 
«pproached.     «  What  do  you  say,  Frank  ?  ' 
-,"1  say  nothing,"  says  Frank,  sulkily. 

Frank  woul.l  die  at  the  stàke  sooner  than  ooincije  with 
»ny  idca  of  Durand's.     Durand  laughs  in  his  ai-y  fashicn 

-«d  lay.  one  ^hite  ïiïd  sBapcTy  Iiaiir  on  Dextïr^s  stal^^^^ 
noalder. 


r' 


"  THR  JtlVALS.' 


^9 


^S 


she 


says 


**  Fnnçois,  mtn  ami " 

« My  name's  Frank,"  growls  Mr.  Dexter.  still  mo-e  sulkily 

"  Eeoute,  mm  cher  Frank -  ^ 

"  Speak  En«lish  if  you  want  to  talk  to  n,e,  Mister  Dunnd' 
^^^:^''-'  Ha„.ana.ovesaway,cZt* 

I  w^U  be  stage  manager.  I  wiU  take  ail  the  labor  of  arrange 
«ents  upon  myself-you  shall  do  nothing  but  accept  yo^ 
parts,  and  cover  yourselves  with  distinction  " 

"Ahl  cover  ourselves  with  distinction  I  "  repeats  Mis» 
H-nott  withagroan,  "  what  fiendish  sarcasm  is  hère  ?" 
ReinTÏf^,?  ^""^  ^T  ^  "  *"^"^"'  Longworth,  smiling,  and 

tHt;:„''oTt;r,ï^''°™^  ^^  *  ^'^^^^  theoncunsatisfied  a» 

"And  of  mine,"  chimes  ii,  Miss  Hariott  ;  «  let  me  strut  m, 

httle  hour  upon  the  stage  and  I  dîe  happy."  ^ 

"It  ain't  half  a  bad  idea,"  s-.  M     Berlr».;th  • 

««W'c^^..        j     •  .        ^  .-s^  *' • /»ecicwith,  coming  up. 

its  ne«r.  and  n.ce,  and  wiU  ,uy.     Fairs  are  bores  a  baU 

fect  angel  !  "  ^     ^  "'^""^  ^^^  are  a  peç. 

'•  Ah  !  madame,"  says  M.  Durand,  and  removes  his  hat 
and  lays  h.s  hand  upon  his  heart  ;  .«  as  you  are  strlng  bL  m^. 
cfal  !     Your  hghtest  word  of  praise  overpovvers  me." 

J."  W^t  a°mtT' '"'"^  ^^''  '  ''""^  °'  unmitigateddi» 
TlL  -u  '  «™Penng  fool  that  wife  of  Beckwith', 

«onkey»  Frenchmen  mvjiriably  arc  f  * 

-  U<  lu  form  a  committee  of  ways  and  means."  «ay,  Beck 


Q 


19« 


**TitE  niVAts: 


»nth,  ••  »nd  let  us  décide  the  matter  at  once.  Hère'»  a  ^<w 
place  under  thèse  trees-let  us  sit  down.  Now  then,  mon 
•leur,  you  re  the  leader  and  chief  of  this  project-whaf  ■  thc 
playtobeginwith?"  . 

A  confusion  of  longues  immediately  ensues. 

"The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  cries  shrilly  Mrs.  Beckwith  :  «  I  wiU 
pbyjauhne  and  M.  Durand  the  fascinating  Claude  Met 

"  Didever  a  couètionof  amateur  noodlesmurder  a  «ood 
drama,  I  wonder,  without  begînning  with  'The  Lady  of  Lv- 
ons?      comments Mr.  Dexter,  stiU disgusted,  to  Miss  Marie. 

M.SS  Mane  sm.les,  reposes  under  her  pink  parasol,  listent 

"1  tir  ^f  •"  '"^^  ^^^cn.ûon,      Some  one  propose, 

1h  M  i^  ""''  ^"  '^''""'"^"  ^^  "^^  'Thane  of  Ca^dor, 
Wd  Miss  Hariott  as  the  tremendous  heroine.  This  is  over 
ruJed  with  much  laughter.  "  Hamlet  "  is  ambitiously  asked 
for  next  by  Mr.  Beckwith  ;  Durand  can  play  Hamlet,  Mr  R 
opmes,  he  rather  looks  hke  that  sort  of  thing.  and  he  niighl 
tfm)w  a  httle  ongmahty  into  the  perfom.ance  by  singing  a 
French  comic  song.  say  in  the  grave-digging  scène,  or  just  ' 
before  the  ghost  enters.  He,  Mr.  Beckwith,  thinks  he  might 
d.sttngu.sh  himself  as  the  Ghost  This  too  meets  with  ob- 
jection    Jhenthey  discuss  the  "  School  for  Scandai,"  but 

ÏT'c  \  ,^  '^*''  "-"^^^  ^'^^  nioralground.  The  "School 
for  Scandai  .sn't  proper,  by  George,  and  he  isn't  going  in  fo, 
what  .s  not  stnctly  virtuous  and  correct  l^o  n.arried  man 
oinïh  to  countenace  such  a  rascal  a.  Jose,lh  Surface,  and 
Charles  was  not  much  better.  Saw  it  played  once  in  Boston, 
and  was  sorry  he  took  Mrs.  B.  The  man  who  Wote  it  ougS 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  ** 

"Speaking  of  the  School  for  Scandai,  what  do  you  say  to 
Shen.'an  s  other  comedy  '  The  Rivais/  "  i.nquires  Durand  :  -  M 
wnot  beyond  ordinary  amateur  hisfrionic  efforts,  and  Mr 
,^with  s  moral  scruples  do  no  îipply.     You  hâve  aU 
The  Rivali.'  T  suppose  ?  " 


:re'B  «l£Ow 
then,  mon 
-what**  thc 


h;  «IwiU 
aude  Mêl- 
er a  good 
ày  of  Ly. 
iss  Marie. 
iol,  listent 

proposes 

Cawdor, 
h  is  over 
sly  asked 
;t,  Mr.  R 
he  niighl 
singing  a  ^ 
î,  or  just 
he  might 

with  ob- 
kl,"  but 
"School 
ing  in  foi 
ied  man 
ice,  and 

Boston, 

it  oiight 


1  say  tj 
md  ;  "  i* 
md  Mr. 
ail 


Let me see,"  says  Durand,  fro,vning  reflectivelv     «.h ' 
uc  enoueh  of  us   T  fh.„i,      v  ^  rcnectiveiy  ;  "therc 

-eek.  nett  Mondav  i  r'.   I""  ''"  '"  '^""  ^'""^  ^^^^^  t»>" 

"If  Mrs.  Sheldon  takes  any  part."  savs  R*..n.  d     i 
decidedly,  «  I  décline  to  play  »  ^  *"'  '^'''"'^  *"^ 

Haïr  ^°"«*°^'''^"^"«^nd  looks atherkeenly  mZi 

Madame   <ïh^M        J"^^^'°°«^-     ^e  omit  the   so  charmina 
.vivaaousandsprightlyLucy?"  "«  c^iaracter  of  the 

bennaids  al«rays  dress  like  that  on  the  sfaJB  "^  A 

But  thèse  mce  proprieties  need  not  be  observed  in  am. 


■^ 


nsmillM 


';■" 


»98 


••  THR  XrVALS* 


teurs/'  interpose^  Miss  H-ariott,  soothingly.  «  Lucj  •  ii  * 
delightful  part,  and  you  Aîay  get  iip  the  most  <;rquetti8h  Uttl« 
costanie  imaginable.  Nothipg  could  suit  you  better.  M 
Durand,  if  you  do  not  cast  me  for  Mrs.  Malaprop  I  will  iievei 
forgive  Jfôu." 

"Mees  Hariott,  consider  yourself  Mrs.  Malaprop,  I  foie 
•èe  you  will  electrify  us  in  that  rôle.  Marie,"  hé  turns  abrupt 
ly,  an  instantaneous  change  in  tone  and  face.  "  You  know 
the  play  well— will  you  perform  Julia  to  my  Faulkland  ?" 

**  I  will  spoil  the  performance.  ï  hâve  no  talent  whatever 
Select  sonie  one  else,"  she  answers,  with  a  shrug. 

"  Pardon.  Do  you  forget  I  hâve  seen  you  in  private  the- 
atricals  before  ?  Yes,  in  that  very  character^  As  a  favor  to 
rae — I  do  not  often  ask  favors — play  Julia." 
-  There  is  a  curions  silence.  Frank  Dexter  scrowls  blackly, 
Reine  watches  her  sister  with  sudden  eagerness,  Durand  nevei 
moves  his  glance  froni  her  face,  Marie  nieets  that  glance  full, 
a  sort  of  hard  defiancein  her  handsonie  eyes. 

'*  You  need  no|  put  it  in  that  earnest  way,  .Monsieur  Du 
rand.     If  you,  as  manager  and  proprietor,  wish  it,  and  no  one 
'  else  objects,  I  am  quite  willing  to  oblige."    .     - 
'♦  A  thousand  thanks  !    You  will  play  Julia?" 
"  J  will  make  the  attempt." 

"  And  you  are  the  jealous  lover  !    You  sélect  a  thanklcM 
oie,  M.  Durand,"  observes  Longwprth. 

"It  isone  he  can  perform,  too,  l'il  be  bound,"  says  Mi 
Beckwith.     "  Dark-complected   men,   with  black  eyes  and 
«lustaches,  always  make  first-rate  jealous  lovers  or  first  mur- 
Jerers.     You  don't  jntend  to  leave  me  out  hi  the  cold,  I 
hope,  a  lo<ricer-on  in  Vienna  ?  "  .      ^. 

"Bynomeans.     We  wir  t  a  Bob  Axres.    You  will  be  Bob 
Acres." 
"Capital,  faithl"  says  Mr.   O'SulJj^^an,   who  has  beei 
Jottnging  in  the  outskirts;  "he  was  niade  for  tlies  chimurter^^ 


Are  you  goijig  to  do  nothing  for  me,  Mr.  Stage  .Manager  I' 


Mit  t**^  S^'' V 


,'-•" 

^ 


THÈ  â/yALS." 


r 


«95 


*■  Nced  you  ask  ?    There  is  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger     Are 
fuunotthç-veryman  wewant?" 

think  1 11  hc.  m  th«,  my  début,  l'il  retire  from  pen,  ink  and 

he  world  kn^s-and  take  to  genteel  light  coLdy,    «  Ah  / 
.n^  latle  fnend,'  "  says  Mr.  O'SuIlivan.  turning  to  feck^ith^ 

Zt:''Cl      V'^'T^^'"'^"''  "'ifw'ehadBlunder' 
b^ss  Hall  hère,  I  could  show  you  a  range  of  ancestry  in  the 

hough  the  mansion  house   and   dirty  acres  hâve   slipped 
hrough  my   fingers,  thank   Heaven  J   our  honor  and    the 

fannly  pictures  are  as  fresh  as  ever.'     l'n,  to  fight  a  due 

with  somebody,  I  ibrget  who." 

«.r^°".-1:".'^'''^''^'"^°-'"°"'°^'"^^>'«I^"'^n^-     "Ever, 

But  where  were  éver  private  thealricals  in  which  the  per- 
fonners  were  satisfied  with  their  parts?    Mk.  Dexter  fe^l 
»tanc<,snll.outof  hunier,  g^n^bles^udiblj  with  L^."  „ 
ass.gned  H.m     S.r  Anthony  Absoh.te,î  blùsTering  old  heavÏ' 
fa^er.  stumpmg  ndiculously  about  the  stage,  and  maki„ral^ 
eldery  ass  of  hi.nself-a  pr^tty  part  to  âssfg^  him     HeL,! 
sure  he  Would  shiné  as  Faulkland.  in  a  suitVblack  ve.vet 
but  no^Durand,  m  his  bpastly  selfishness,  nuist  keeu  thL' 
to  h.n.self;  f,r  the  sole  purpose  of  nuking  L.  to  mS. 

Lucy  Mane  looks  bored  by  the  whole  business  Mis- 
Hariott,  alone  brisk  and  satisfied.  announces  her  intention 
l^returning  mstantly  home,  and  bearing  Reine  with  her  te 
begin  theu-  studies  without  a  second's  loss  Of  time  *      ^ 

'  hJZ!l' .  ""  ?"^^'"J'>'  ^^"^ri'«  gentleman   M.  Durand 
^happens  .to  be,"  she  observes  on  the  -w 

know  a  little  of  eveiything  und«r  the  sur 
»ctor,  Lîttle  Queen  ?  " 


"V,^- 


fië  seéSîs  tô 
Was  he  e\ei  ar 


\\* 


se» 


^ 


"  THM  HIV4L':- 


^^  He  i«  »n  opéra  singer,"  Reine  »ay>,  in  *  low  voice. 
He  smgs.  charmingly,  I  allow,  and  although  I  do  no. 
ovemmch  hke  M.  Durand,  it  is  impossible  to  really,  di=lik^ 
tny  one  w,th  such  a  ypice.     What  a  good  gift  it  is." 
^Yousayyoudonptlikehin,?"    Rçine  replats.     "  Why 

"  Howcan  I  "tell?     He  is  handsome,  he  is  agreeable  h# 
.«  pohte.  but  still.  '  I  do  not  love  you.  Dr.  Fell"  [ha' 
sort  of  unreasonable  Dr.  Fell  îeeling,  I  know  some  one  els, 
who  does  not  like  him  either,  Petite  Reine." 
"  You  meatt  Mr.  Dexter  ?  "  ' 

"  No,  tay  dear,  I  don't.     I  meah  Mr.  Longworth  " 

J''l"'*,!r'7f?°''  ^^°'^'=*^-^h?t  has  he  done  that  any  of 
youshould  dishkehim?"         ,^  ^ 

"Hâve  you  never  disliked  aWdistrust^  any  one,  Petite 
Colthl' "  "'"''°"'  "°"  '°"«  '°^^  '^^  -™-  -' 
Uev^"  "^^  "^^  ''"°''-    ^"'"  '*^^  *^"^  »^  September.  I   be- 

J'*!'"k"  ''^'   !*•''  H^ott,  abruptly.  "  when    arc-  you- 
going  to  be  married ?"  ^ 

/^"Married!  .I^.« /?.>«/'•  exclaims  Reine  reddeni.  g  and) 
laughing  nervously.     What  a  startling  question  " 
^     "Why  startling?    Yott  are  engaged,  are  you  not 
^narriage  is  the  customary  climaxgf. engagement." 
"  Not  always  "  «x. 

';Petite,  ^hat  dô  you  mean  ?      I  can  see,  I  hav«  s.  «Tfo, 
*on,e   »„e  that  there  is  sometRing  between  you  and  Laur- 

'Sil  "1"^'  ^'  "  ""^"'^  ^'-     ^^"'  '  ^^^  «°  g'-<J  when 
f  i»tad*e.had  choseri  vou,  so  glad  my  Little  Queen  was  to 

lys,  smOing^  but  wiih  a  little  quivet  of  the 
jealou^l^ll  ?  " 


î;sorry  to  lase  my  friend,"  replies  Miss  HariotT 
"and  a  man  is  lost  as  a  friend  who  marries.     But  1 


/^. 


voice. 

1  I  do  nM 
*lly.  diilikj 
s."  . 
ts.     "Why 

> 

reeable,  h* 
'  it  is  th&t 
le  one  elsç 


h." 

hat  any  of 

ne,  Petite, 
remain  in 


;  SI  en  foi 
nd  Laur- 
lad  when 
n  was  to 

et  of  the 


ïfaiîott 
.    Bot  I 


••rfla  JtiFALs.' 


JOI 


Harîott,^thasmile;  "yoJtiedÎLr     f^  ""    ^"' 
Hevê  you  did  not  like  him    h^t  oh  ^km  "^^^^  ^^""''^  ^«^ 
au,  and  I  read  your  hea^^t  b^r»     :k       ^  '''^'  ^  "''  ''^«"«^  '«' 
I  kno^  you  care  L  h"^  ^«fter  than  you  read  it  yourscif.  anc' 

Thedi\"fa::l",,tSCr^^^^^^^^^ 
cheek.  *^   ^'    '^'^P  '^*^**  buroing  on  eithei 

"  And  he  gave  you  hiswholeheart      R«n^  rï« 

an,,  ...i™d:::^'^;r:d  :«  r  t'  ^"^  "— • 

■liU  sort  of  thin.  riito,  i^°rf  *^"'  "''•^'  1'°"  f»"-  StiU. 

inr  to  do  with  u      t.  v,  i-'urand  tias  noth- 

«  1^0.71  ^'^enot'nybrother?" 

idont  beheve  m  that  sort  of  brother"  retorts  M, 
Hariott,   cynically,   "unless  he   i^   fif*  À   J^^°'^^''^«s 

i^ôouce  Durand  hâs  one  of  h  f  ^    """^^  hu.„,,backed. 

créature  ever  .o^e    your  r^ JH^rÏ^" -'""^  '^^  ^«^""^'^ 

-y  dear,  and  he  is  jeall^d  evefy^Z:  •"'  ''''  '""^^ 
"  He  has  no  right  to  be  jealouT'  R  ^^«  ^u '"^'  "''°''«-" 

has  no  nght  to  think  of  ,„e  as  he  doej  '       ^'''  ^''^"'^-     «« 

'  My  dcar.  right  has  npthing  to  do  with  it      Wh       . 
.tegins  to  weigh  thi„gs.and  balance  Ïe  St  and  th  "" 

it  ceases  to  be  love      It  i,  th.  ^    .         ^       ^  ^"^  ^'""& 

unreasoningpas«.rnonearth     r    ."T"'^'^  """'^^  ^"^ 

»  jealous  ""reasouaV^Z^^^T^^"'-     "<> 
^  ,  ««un ,  and  ontil  Durand  goes,  «c  mti  mi\\  r.main 


^ 


yoa 


**TMM  giy^LSH 


.  hJ'^::;;  l;:*:  ^;i  :'^- -  ;^  br„.hc.,  ,..,„. 

«T  "Adr-I  regr«  man,  thingi" 

Voa  do  not  knov  him  aj  I  do     Hr  »li  k. 

^  W^n.  ™«tam..  .ad  U,c„-_,..     Th.  dark  he«.  ïft. 

«/^«  1?  'uU^":r  """  '">"  ""  •«  ">«  »■.«  to 
•     "TV.  *"'*^' *^c^O'nan  who  suffers  most  " 

do  him  taL^T  ^      *'  «"'  ">"■  '«>™n.lly.     "If  „ 

«.on.  ^'ofT^^d'  rd'-^'ts-r  '  '"■1, 

.oûcatul"'"''"*  -^  '3"^     '  *>  ■"«  •-P'C.  «^     I  -. 
brélî'''  Ïm  d'il'""'"',.? '^  "'  '"*»"  '««'»  --«e  yicld  o, 

70»  ap,  ,1,.,  i,  d,e  .mth.     H „.  t  JT  ""^.T""'.  «'" 
.   R«n.  ..main,  .rillingly  enough.  and  th.,  peru.,  ..„.. 


:éi'ii 


nch  brotha' 

r*»  keeper. 

'Ongworth'f 

do.     Ifhe 

lift  a  fingei 


LT  untâ  he 

head  lifti 

^e  one  to 
lost."    . 
)r  the  losi 
•*If  K), 
esa.     For 
spect  me 
ff  he  can- 
tter/' 
;  "head- 
aie  well 
yieldan 

L     I  ain 

yield  O! 
>  well,  1 
uabbles, 
to  steei 
lot  givc 
md  st»f  — 


-rff£  AIVALS.- 


JPJ 


>  •«•n.« 


the  cent  ;r  of  the  table     Lfl  t  ^  **"  ^°''«"  «» 

talk.  The  moments  are  4^"dtën^*'r'*'**^ 
*nd  R.i„e  look,  round  the^^\  Z^^,.  '""  "^"* 
risci  to  go.  F'caMm  room  with  regret  as  she 

'•  What  a  prettjr  houw  thi.  i.,"  rf,e  says      «  I  .î.k  t  r    . 

^  rimony.     What  do  you  ,i"?'  ^  ^^^"^^'^  °^'^°  «<»  ^ 
Longworth  laughs. 

Hanott  to  marr^^  me."  *     »'     "«  ^  once  asked  Mi»  J 

^  D.d  she  tell  you  abo  that  .be  ref„»ed  me?" 

"»>  ttride  forwaid  an  &i«fi.l  ^^         .^^'  »*  **«  very  altai,  1 

/         *•  '"'WMu  an  «wfui  Nenvesu.  and  loiU«f  *k.  w 
It  w  my  right."  *"  "'  **•«■• 


î 


■fM"?^»''fW!**i(Bi(ffi<ii*"fw 


■  IDIijill  M.  ^M"J 


m 


**  THE  X/VALS." 


'  -M    Longworth   should  be  used   to  rejectionf    by  thii 

«nfortunatem  h.s  affairs  of  the  heart    Repeated  blows  h^ 
ev.^harde„substancesalread,hardbynatL.^^ 

Ah  J     You  kno«-  ail  about  it,  I  see.     Yes  I  hive  b^i-r 
.o...„^^,ein.epast;leeusbo. 

;;  Does  not  the  présent  ?  "  inquires  Miss  HariolL 
Not  sausfactonly.     Good-night.  fair  hostess.     Don't  let 

t:ZlX;f.  "'  ^°"  ^"'^"^  '''  '''  -'  ^^^-  - 

darkness  of  the  August  night.  meeting  few.  speaking  little 
«.p-ely  content  in  their  hidden  hearis.  to'be'togethe^  and 

fr.  "i^""/:'^  '"'  "^^''  «''°"^'  "  ^'^^^  d»d  you  mean  by  refusini. 
to  play  ,f  Mrs.  Sheldon  was  to  be  one  of  us  ?  "  * 

"Need  you  ask?"  she  answers,  calmly.     "Léonce  tore 
«P  hrs  letter  .n  his  room,  set  fire  to  the  fraUntsTnd  th ". 

Who  thmk  you,  in  that  house.  wpuld  take  the  trouble  to  write 
an  anonymous  letter,  and  inclo,e  it?  Mrs.  Sheldon  wL 
on  e  your  affianced.  There  are  fhose  who  say  she  aspiVe^ 
îo  the  posmon  stilL  Do  you  think  that  letter  w^  he  ^ 
of  a  servant  ?"  "'  * 

Ungworth  answers  nothing;  he  has  been  thinking  the 
C  Shddon  f"^;     ^"*  "''^°  ^^  -^J-'  -  -eweVb 

«h''^""  ^«  engaged  to  Miss  Heine  Landelle,  Laurence.- 
she  sa,,,  ^eh  einotion,  and  her  handkerchief  to  l,er  eye^  • 

^ghta^leastjrouwere^  fne«d~-olé  tia^  might  sureh— 
^^;-3e  you  tha.     1  „e ver-no.  I  ne.er  th^u^ 
wouL  .tand  qu.etly  by  and  hear  me  Jnsulted" 


ymt 


•nr  hy  ûâ 
D  âingtilari} 
îlows,  how 
they  not  ?  ' 
hâve  beeç 
future  wih 


Don'i  let 
^sdom  ol 

tint  warni 
ing  little, 
ether  and 

y  refusing 

)nce  tore 
nd  threw 
is  found 
e  to  Write 
don  wa& 
i  aspires 
the  woik 


*''-'-'i>' 


VO"  hav.  ,     ,  c„^a„,,  ^„^    ^;°^Me.  Re.„e,  wha,  wc™ld 

■«  »  l'àfs  preragaiive,  and  besideTT  ='  ""'  "'  '•*'=''■ 

»■«  rather  admire  her  spirit."  °°'  '»"'  ""«  I*> 

4'^nSî'    ^•'"*°  "«"■-"  i»3„lri„gn.el     Oh.  «ù.  J. 

•poke  as  she  did  ?  "  ^'  '  '"%  "U  yo"  why  A, 

'IJfyoaplease.    Ifyouk„„„... 

Monsieur  Durand  torTuô  an<?  r™!,  °"^  ^^^  ^^^^  '^eek. 

one  in  this  housLwasTncKdl^.  ^i  '"'^'  "^  «^^  ««"^ 
and  sent  to  nie.    The  letter  was  in  »        "^   ',  *"°">''no"s  lettei 
I  showed  it  to  Mlle.  ReirLandeT'".' ''"'■~*''^^'^-^ 
own  surmise  as  to  the  writer      r  h       '  '""^  '''"  ^"""«^'^  ^e. 
•n  my  own  défense.  I  shall  burn  arfi^h™"''  *"*  '"^'  °'"^' 
•nun.cat.ons.     Time  to  start  fnr  .?  ^  ^  "^*^''^«  <=<>«• 


king  the 
ewed  bj 
lext  day, 

irence^'" 
T  eye»  ; 
w,  but  ] 
«trely- 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

nis  race  as  he  drawi  near,  fp, 


M 


^T^rjrii^'^'^^Mimjfgig^lMIt^^ 


iOÔ     "  rOff  Jt/FALS'* -Off  THR  STX^R  AJ^D  OPP. 

he  ran  plainly  hear  Mrs.  Malaprop  and  Miss  Languish  t* 
heiucn:ly  gabbling  their  parts.  He  leans  his  folded  arms  ot 
Ihf^  window-sill  and  looks  in  at  the  two  actresses  who,  in  thc 
spirit  of  true  artistes,  pay  no  heed  to  their  audience  but  go  on 

'*  There,  Sir  Anthony  l  "  exclaims  Mrs.  Malaprop,  point 
ug  a  derisive  iinger  at  her  fair  companion,  *'  there  stands  thc 
deliberate  simpleton  v^ho  wants  to  diâgrace  her  family,  anc* 
Uvish  herself  on  a  fellow  not  worth  a  shilling  I  " 

(Reine — as  Lydia  Languish.)— *' Madame,  I  thought  you 
once " 

(Mrs.  Malaprop.) — "You  thought,  missl  I  don't  know 
what  business  you  hâve  to  thihk  at  ail  I  thought  does  not  be- 
come  a  young  wonian.  But  the  point  we  would  request  of 
you  is,  that  you  will  promise  to  forget  this  fellow — to  illiter- 
ate  him,  I  say,  from  your  memory." 

Longworth  glanées  at  Reine,  his  smile  fading.  He  is 
thinking  of  Durand — the  words  seeni  to  apply.  Perhapi 
Reine  is  also,  for  the  patho^  of  her  tone  is  very  real  as  she 
answers  : 

"Ahl  madame,  our  memories  are  independent  of  oui 
wills.     It  is  not  so  easy  to  forget" 

(Mrs.  M.) — *'  But  I  say  it  is,  miss  I  there  is  nothing  on 
earth  so  easy  as  to  forget,  if  a  person  chooses  to  set  abopl 
it  l'm  sure  I  hâve  as  much  forgot  your  poor  dear  uncle  as 
if  he  had  never  existed,  and  I  thought  it  my  duty  so  to  do  .. 
and  let  me  tell  you,  Lydia,  thèse  violent  memories  don't  be- 
^omé  a  young  woman." 

Hère  there  is  some  gectle  applause  from  the  window. 
Miis  Hariott  delivers  this  speech  as  if  ^e  meant  it 

"  Madame,"  says  Lydia,  still  pathetically,  '*  what  crime 
hâve  I  committed  to  be  treated  thus  ?  '' 

"  Will  you  promise  to  do  as  you  are  bid  ?  "  demands  Mrs 
Malaprop,  severely.    "  Will  you  take  a  husband  of  joai 


fr-end's  chooringR"^ 
"  Madame,"  responds  Lydia,  emphatically,  and  CMtv  a  d» 


-H- 


ingidsh  V* 
:d  arms  oi 
vho,  in  the 
but  go  on 
rop,  point 
stands  thr 
amily,  anc* 

ought  yoa 

on't  know 
•es  not  be- 
■equest  of 
— to  illiter- 

g.    He  il 

Perhapi 

«al  as  she 

Qt    of    OUI 

lothing  on 
>  set  abopt 
ir  uncle  at 
so  to  do . 
\  don't  be- 

e  window. 

lut  crime 

and»  Mrs 
d  of  yoai 

aifty  ad» 


-  THS  RIVALS«-.Off  THB  STAGE  AND  OFF.  307 
J^-t  glance  at  the  «rindow,  "  I  must  tell  you  plainly  that  ha<J 
would  be  iny  aversion  I  " 

n^n^""^  ^hat  business  hive  you.  miss  !  "  cries  Mr.   Mal. 

prop  m  a  fine  fury.  -  with  préférence  and  aversion  ?    Tl  tv 

i  ïl^^hT™'  '  ^'°""«  ''^'"*'^  ^  "^  ^°"  °"ght  to  know  tha 

:  liï:;!  aveXr  °^  '''  ^^^^  ^'^  -^^^  --^  -  ^^^°  ^^^^ 

of  vr^'"  Tu''*  'P**"""'  descending  from  the  height. 
of  Malaprop,  to  be  Mis,  Hariott  once  more,  "corne  in,  if 

'Z  TT'  t' r'  '"  '"^^^^'^  J"^^'-  -">  y-  looping  oi 
and  bcsUes,  Lydia  doesn't  half  kno^  her  line,.  Take  yom 
book.  nnss,  and  go  study.  Let  me  tell  you  it  does  not  be- 
corne  a  young  woman^to  6nly  half  know  her  lesson." 

Reme  laughs  picks  up  her  book,  and  disappear,.     I^„g. 
worth  enters  and  takes  his  custoniary  chair 

"  Where  is  Mtj.  Dexter  ?  »  he  asks 

For  two  days  before  Mrs.  Dexter  arrived  in  Baymouth.  a. 
per  promise,  and  is  Miss.  Hariotfs  guest 

ml^r,'"  .'1\"?"  ^"-  ^'"'^^°'-  Like  the  best  and 
most  obedient  of  httle  mothers.  she  has  fallen  in  love  with 
Mane  because  her  b.g  boy  has  told  her  to  do  so.  She  sing, 
her  praises  untU  I  grow  idiotie,  listening.  She  is  the  pretri- 
est  créature  the  sun  shines  on-so  gentle.  so  sweet.  so  affec 

?!     '  r  T-    '^"'^°^''  '^^•^^^^'  *  ««-g  -'ch  ev^ 

or  Longvvorth's  hetr      "  Laurence,"  she  lays  down  the  >.ort 
she  has  taken  up.  and  looks  at  him  earnestly,  "  I  wondcr  tf 
ihat  unfatho.nab.e  girl  means  to  marry  poor  FrankT" 
*'  Can  she  do  better  ?  "  ,  .  v  , 

JL  ^°'°* .  ^""^  î^  ''°^''"'*  """^  ^'^'^  "^'"d  *"  hâve  had  prioi 
atta  hment.     I  thmk  if  the  lovely  Marie  were  vivisec^-.d 
her  heart  m.ght  be  put  in  a  filbert-shell.     Reine,  self-wiUed 
cerverse.  hnt.f«mi^r^    : .%.  .   .. LJLi^^'"r^ 


„ ^„,  ...  »  uiucrt-sneii.     Keme,  self  w  lied 

.^erse,hot-tempered,  is  worth  *  fhdusaSd  i  ïcr.   ^ 
««  a  heart  of  gold  for  hiui  who  is  able  to  win  it  " 
«•  Afc  I  but  tbe  winnin^f  «  juch  uucoimnouly  a^v  kill  work,' 


JOS     ••  THR  RIVALS'^—OH  THE  STAGE  -AT)  OFF. 


y 


says  Longwcrth,  lazily,  but  with  an  amused  look  in  his  eye% 
"  and  the  question  that  naturally  présents  itself  to  an  inquir* 
ing  niind,  is  :  is  ihc  ^ame  worth  the  cardle  ?  " 

"  The  man  who  could  ask  such  a  question,"  begins  Mis» 
Hariott  vehemently.     Then  she  stops  and  takes  up  her  work. 
**I  won't  say  another  word  I  "  she  exclaims.      "  You  are 
ready  to  sit  there  and  abuse  her  for  the  next  hour  for  the 
pleasujre  of  hearing  me  contradict  you  !     I  won't  do  it  !  " 

Longworth  laughs,  and  silence  falls.  Outside  the  faini 
•ea-bieeze  stirs  among  the  Septeniber  flowers,  bées  boom  in 
"  wave-swimg  Hlies  and  wind-swung  roses,"  the  sharp  crack 
of  the  grasshopper  pierces  the  hot,  dry  grass.  ,    . 

Reine  appears  to  hâve  totally  vanished.     The  day  is  tJu 
day  so.long  expected,  so  niuch  talked  of,  and  to-night  Bay- 
riiouth  is  to  be  electrified  by  the  grand  anjateur  performance 
of  *'The  Rivais."     For  the  last  ten  days  dressinakers  hâve 
been  busy,  costumes  hâve  been  sent  for,  rehearsals  hâve  been 
going  on.     A  crowded  house  is  expected  ;  a  very  little  goes 
a  long  way  in  Baymouth.     There  are  daily  rehearsals,  and 
daîly  squabbles,  despair  and  frenzy  "on  the  part  of  Monsieui 
Durand,  chronic ,  sulkiness  on  the^  part  of  the  performers. 
The  manager's  task  is  a  Herculean  one,  the  drilling  of  thèse 
raw  recruits  a  formidable  and  thankless  uiidertaking,  but 
after  a  fashion  he  accomplishes  it.     Among  the  refractojy 
corps,  Frank  Dexter  is  perhaps  the  most  incorrigible,  the 
most  niaddeningly  pig-headed.     Frank,  who  takes  umbragc 
»t  tlie  manager's  most  jnnocent  remarks,  who  stands  in  the 
wings  and  scowls  like  a  démon,  daily,  duriAg  the  love  paii- 
•ag«s  betweeii  Faulkland  and  his  insipid  Jbtlia.     And  perhapt 
«incc  the  character  was  first  performed  it  was  never  rcndered 
lo  utterly  flat,  stale,  and  vapid  as  in  the  hands  of  Miss  Marie 
Landelle.     FauU^land  may  rave,  may  glare,  may  spout  hii 
glooiny  speeches  as  impassionedly  as  mortal  man  may,  he  awak- 
eiis  no  àliswenngrésponse  in  thaFco<3bosom.  Miis  LandeHè, 
bci  rtdunt  haïr  ialling  like  a  glory  abc  ut  ber,  her  beautifoi 


OFF, 

n  his  eyei^ 
>  an  inquir* 

egin^  Misi- 
I  her  work. 
"  You  are 
aurfor  the 
do  it  !  " 
le  the  faini 
s  boom  in 
liarp  crack 

day  is  tht 
night  Bay- 
rfornlance 
kers  hâve 
hâve  been 
little  goes 
irsals,  and 
Monsieuf 
erformers. 
ig  of  thèse 
ikiiig,  but 
rcfractpry 
igible,  the 
uiiibragc 
ids  in  the 
love  paii- 
d  perhapi 
rcndered 
[iss  Marie 
spout  hii 
,  he  awak- 


•««.  and  of  which  he  Hghiy  a„p,„    °    Th.  "'•  t-™*»»"" 

■-ro;.:rr.-r-^^'"^^^^^^^ 

«.me  .„e  el"  a„d  C  S "1"  "^  ".'"'^  '"'°"««'  '» 

"-u;  X":  crLi^ntVit^'r''  -«""-- 

«".pnuted  ?    My  le»,  and  Z!  "  '  '"  °'  ■">'  «""^ 

Peace  of  mind  eve  ^i„^e  Z  „  T"  '"  '"=  """=«  '<"" 

*o„H  lti;^",Ô^*;  "^^7"  —  '"an  fta.  ,hey 
-"■  'odo  r..    Or ".^«'be^i,       •"'^""^  ™'f'"-«  "«^ 

.h=  audience.       beto  t^  ,"  ,       T"  °'  ^°"'  "-=«'  '° 
face  .0  the  W"  '    '       ""■"'  "^  >»">  '°"'  «  <»«« 

tTT^^'^'^^'i'  t"ng  d°/r  te'':*  -r^ 

*"  ^  ""'-^  "  ""«.  "»<'  a  gréa,  .hrong  .rfu.  it     B, 


V 


utf:J<tf-.<.,:„a  ,,. 


JtO     ••  TBR  ntVALS^^ON  THE  STAGE  AND  OFF. 

mouth  muiters  well  to  enjoy  the  blundeis  and  breakdown*  tA 
the  amateurs.  At  eight  eveiy  seat  fs  fiUed,  and  the  orchestra 
isinfull  blast— silent  expectations  of  fun  to  conte  filla  th» 
house.  Behind  the  scènes  dire  confusion  and  flutter  obtaia 
people  with  painted  faces  and  wigged  heads  rush  franticallj 
to  and  fro,  little  yellow-covered  books  in  their  handii,  gabbling 
idiotically.  M.  Durand,  in  the  dress  of  the  somber  Faulkland, 
is  ubiquitous,  gesticulating,  imploring,  beseeching,  trying 
madly  to  evoke  order  out  of  chaos.  In  thé  midst  of  the  con- 
fiision,  worse  confounded,  up  goes  the  curtain,  and  on  go 
Fag  ànd  the  Coachman  I 

And  hère  the  fun-expectant  audience  are  not  disappointed. 
Memory  and  voice  forsake  thèse  two  poor  players  instanta- 
oeously,  at  sight  of  that  sea  of  eager  faces,  and  twinkling 
eyes.  In  vain  the  prompter  roars  in  a  husky  and  frantic 
whisper,  painfully  audible  to  ail  présent  but  the  two  unfor- 
tunates  for  whom  it  is  intended.  "  Corne  off!  "  at  last  de 
spairingly  is  the  cry,  and  Fag  and  the  Coachman  go  off  wiseï 
and  wddder  men.  The  opening  scène  closes  in  humiliatina 
and  abject  defeat,  and  Baymoutlf  titters  audibly  and  feels  thaï 
it  is  getting  its  mone/s  worth. 

The  next  is  the  room  of  Miss  Lydia  Languish— Miss  1^ 
L.,  in  délicate  pink  silk,  her  pfofuse  dark  hair  coiled  about 
her  small,  shapely  head,  "discovered"  reclining  in  an  easy 
chair,  and  Lucy,  the  maid,  in  the  most  coquettish  of  dresses, 
and  most  undaunted  of  voices,  comes  briskly  forward,  and 
f peaks  : 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  l've  traversed  half  the  town  in  search  of 
it  I  don't  believe  there's  a  circulating  library  in  Bath  I 
ha'n't  been  at." 

The  audience  feel  thcy  are  to  be  cheated  in  this  scène— il 
is  going  to  «*go  offi^    Reine  speaks,  and  her  rich,  full  voice  il  • 
perfectly  distinct  todU.    Mrs.  Beckwith,  as  the  sprightly  Lucy, 
cdvéw  herself  wîth  renown.     Mlle;  Reine  knows  her  line% 
tnd  aayi  them  with  spirit  and  cffect.     Presently  enters  Marit 


i' 


OFP, 

akJownf  ol 
he  orchestra 
me  filU  thf 
itter  obtaia 
1  franticall) 
ds,  gabbling 
-  Faulkland, 
ling,  trying 
\  of  the  con- 
and  on  go 

Isappointed. 
rs  instanta* 
cl  twinkling 
and  frantic 
two  unfor- 
at  last  de 
50  off  wiser 
humiliating 
id  feels  thaï 

i — Miss  l^ 
)iled  about 
in  an  easy 
of  dresses, 
rward,  and 

I  search  of 
in  Bath  I 


■'^'"""y^tS"-O^THBSTA3BAmo^f.      J,. 

«or,  M  the  irascible  Sir  AnthoT^r    •  ^^  ""• 

mone/.  worth  once  more     mJ'J  ,^'"«  '°  8"'  "  '" 
to  th.  other  extrême  -hêritro^r  ^'"°'''  '"'"""••  S"" 

-^ohave.pp.^^,„^,,J^--^*;^^^^^^^ 

..Mt^:c"\î^d^ra:s-iLtrc;:ri- 

^Hth.rea,,,r„T7;;::.^T:itis^":;: 

velvet  Qt»tH«o  r  7  ^  jeaious  m  nirst  beconnng  black 
veivet,  stndes  forward  to  the  footliahK  Ti^u  a  ^.  '*" 
hands  of  Mr.  Beckwith  i,  fh.  -î       ■  ^  ^"^^'  '"  ^^*^ 

«P«l-an«,S^S^^S!"?^^  rupture,  spea^c^ 


lia      "  r/tt  XIVAtS''-  ON  THE  STAGE  4.VD  OFP. 


ee^n  laboring  under,  and  stambs  up  arid  dowm,  memory  anc 
foice  restored.  V 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  well  as  Longworth, 
(^Sullivan,  and  Miss  Hariott  acquit  themselves,  that  Du- 
rand i#  pre-eminently  the  star  of  the  night.  There  is  a  re.i' 
md  passionate  earnestness  in  his  morbid  jealousy  and  toitiu  » 
ng  love  that  Baymouth  bas  not  expected,  an  i  that  holdi  i 
lilent  and  surprised.  / 

•'  Gad  you  know,"  as  Mr  Beckwith  remarks  at  the  wings, 
"  he  goes  at  it  as  though  he  had  never  donc  anytWng  else 
but  make  lo/e  lô,  and  be  jealous  of,  Mîss  Marie.  By  George, 
you  know,  he  does  it  as  if  he  meant  it." 

When  the  fifth  act  opens  with  the  impassioffâl  scène 
between  the  lovers — Julia's  renunciation  of  him^nd  Faulk- 
land's  despair — tHeie  is  something  ahnost  painfuMli  the  real 
isra,  the  intensity  with  which  Durand  goes  through  it.  Marie, 
too,  for  the  first  time  draws  up  her  tall,  slender  figure,  hei 
eyes  kindle,  she  extends  one  hand,  her  voice  rises,  her  gaze 
transfixes  him— in  that  gaze  anger,  scorn,  contempt.  " 

"Bat  one  word  more!"  she  says,  and  her  voice  rings 
clearly,  stemly  out,  as  though  that  word  were  not  acting,  but 
inexorable  reality.  "  As  once  my  faith  has  been  given  you, 
I  will  never  barter  it  with  another.  I  shall  pray  for  voui 
hapiN'ness,  and  the  dearest  Wessing  1  can  ask  of  Heaven  to 
send  you,  will  be  to  charm  you  from  that  unhappy  temper 
which  alone  has  prevented  the  performance  of  our  solemn 
engagement.  And  let  it  not  be  your  least  regiet  that  it  has 
lost  you  the  love  of  one  whô  would  hâve  followed  you  in 
beggary  thioughout  the  worid  !" 

She  goes  with  a  sweep  of  the  hand,  and  something  in  her 
face  that  is  not  acting.     Faulkland's  burst  of  despair  thril's 
everyheart.     "She  is  gone,  and  forever!     Oh  I  fool,  doit, 
'barbarian  J  " 

=-   Baymouth  stares--this  rî  not  iïê  soit  ôf  Ûdnf  they  paid^ 
•eventy-five  cents  to  see     An    njured  «ense  cornes  ajvj» 


r 


r 


^> 


-r/te  XrVALS'^^oif^TffE  STAGE  AND  OFfi.      315 

Aem  of  having/been  swindied-where  does  tjie  laugh  the, 

^b  Aores  ,s  funn.er  than  ever  .as  Bob  Acres  before  wi  bout 
mtend.ng  .t  .n  the  least.  and  Sir  Anthony  is  sudden  y  sulkj 

u  in  a  broad  gnn  once  more  when  the  curtain  fall.. 

The  Rivais  ends.    Altogelher  it  has  not  been  such  bad 
fim  Bayn^outh  décides,  :f  that  Frenchman  had  not  played  se 
.bsurdly  well.     A  storrr  of  applause  greets  the  fin   h-Mrs 
Malaprop  .s  called  fo,  Captain  Absolute  is  callcd  for,  and 
^en  he  appears  holding  his  father  by  the  hand,  there  t 

SI  for.  but  dechne  to  corne.     Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  i. 
-     ^»ed  for  vocferously.  and  to^liip,  there  is  flung  a  bouqui 
of  s,ze  and  beauty.     With  er^tion  and  gratituL  w"ning 
from  e^ery  feature,.Mr.  O'SuIlivan  stoops  to  pick  k  To 

12^^^^'^'-'^^^-  '-'^  graspra'nfasird'; 
majestically  to  the  régions  whence  it  came.  '  A  blank  stare 

tZti  ''r'  '^''"^'"^'  '  ^°^^  ^-'"  ^'^^  audience,  and 
Ihen  the  curtain  is  down.  Bayraouth  is  departing  and  the 
amateur  performance  is  at  an  end.  ^' 

The  conclusion  of  the  entertain.nent  is  to  be  celebrated 

Ivt  hi:rr.'  ^^^%«-°"'-  Thither  the  whole  cl' 
pany,  m^high  good  huraor  (with  one  exception),  repair.  Need 
•toe  said  that  exception  is  Mr.  Dexter,  Jô  ofT  the  stLe 

ZZ  '°  T     u^"  *''  """^  '"^  '^'"^i^^°"«  -haracter  of  Sir 
?h    re^fll,'  ":'^-'  '"'^"'^-P--'  one  of  Faulkland 
rhe  real  Faulkland  .s  m  the  wildest  of  wild  high  spirits,  the 
«cueinent  of  the  e.ening  seems  to  hâve  flowt  to  his    ead 
ike  Champagne.     Perhaps  it  is  that  he  still  fancics  himself 
performing  the  rôle  of  Mane  Landelle's  lover,  that  mak 
bm  keep^so  persistently  by  her  side.  n.akes  hin,  talk  To  he    • 
^  mcessantly   and  laugh^o  feverishly  and  ote    RernT= 
watches  b,m,^hat  terror  Longworth  has  seen  there  befor/ 
n«ng  m  her  eyes.     Longworth  watches  her.  she  watche, 

14 


/' 


iH     *'  TITE  RIVALS^'-ON  THE  STAGE  Afff>  OFP. 

Durand,  Frank  watches  Marie — \^ie  whosè  face  look?  colr^ 
anJ  pale,  and  fixed  almost  as  marble  in  itschiU  diipleasurc 
Allthrough  the  supper  Durand' s  spirits  keep  at  fever  beat 
He  tells  stories  and  leads  the  laugh,  pays  voluble  compU 
ments  to  ail  the  ladies  apon  their  acting,  but  chiefly  le 
Marie.  '  '. 

"  She  cast  »ne  oflF  with  withering  scorn,  as  if  it  «rere  rcalit) 
not  acting,  did  she  npt.  Frank,  irèi  cher  ?  "  he  cries,  gayly 
"I -Stand  renounced  and  rejccted  forever." 

"  You  bear  it  well,  at  least,"  says  Frank,  coldly. 

Ce  is  looking  with  angry  conteinpt  at  his  rival,  but  he  secs, 
toc,  the  fiery  flash  of  Rèine's  dark  eyes  across  the  table. 
For  Marie,  who  is  next  him,  she  turiis  deliberately  to  Long 
worth,  hçr  neighbor  on  the  left,  and  looks  at  Durand  no  more. 

Supper  ends — ail  rise  and  disperse  throUgh  the  rooms, 
for  Miss  Hariott  has  thrown  open  every  apartment  A  mo- 
ment later  Long^orth  sees  Reine  approach,  say  a  îew  words 
to  Durand,  sees  him  listen  attentively,  nod  silently,  and 
presently  disappear  altogether.  Mrs,  Beckwith  flutters  up, 
addresses  him,  daims  his  attention,  and  five  minutes  latt^, 
when  he  looks  agaiq,  Reine  too  is  gone.  " 

"  Where  is  Durand  ?  "  he  incjuires  carelessly  ot  his  hôstess-^ 

"  Gk)ne  out  to  indulge  in  a  cigar,"  she  ans#ers  ;  "  finds  in- 
d(^rs  too  close.  He  has  found  something  to  upset  him, 
certâinly  ;  he  is  altogether  unlike  himself  to-night." 

"  Still  the  smoking  idea  is  9.  goçd  one.  The  house  is  dote. 
I  think  I  will  step  out  and  blow  a  cloud  mysélf." 

He  goes.  The  night  is  dark,  starless,  and  sultry  for  Scja 
tember;  the  little  rooms  are  unpleasantly  heated.  He  ia 
yagiiely  uneasy  ;  the  sensé  of  something  being  wrong  and  se- 
cret between  Durand  and  thèse  sisters  is  upon  him  mors 
itrongly  than  ever.  There  is  a  meaning  under  the  mannet 
of  ail  three  that  irritâtes  and  baffles  him,     Why  has  Reine 


■tr 


iMUfelïim  qnit  iWe  Tiouse  and  go  home?     Is  she  afrail  of 
1001e  reckl«>ss  iisdoi^ure  ?     \nd  where  is  Reine  ?    Hm  shf 


ïlook9  colc, 
diipleasurc 
fever  beat 
ible  c(unpli 
t  chiefly  t( 

vexe  roalit) 
cries,  gayly 


but  he  «ces, 

i  the  table, 
ly  to  Long 
nd  no  more, 
the  rooins, 
nt  A  mo- 
i  few  words 
ilently,  ar(d 
flutters  up, 
lûtes  latte»; 

his  hostess.<« 
;  "  finds  in- 
upset  hini, 

ise  U  dote. 

tiy  for  Sc[> 
mL  He  il 
angand  se- 
hxxxx  mors 
the  mannei 
Jias  Reine 
e  afraii  ai 
Hag  sht 


beforeitistoolatt"'     '  ^"^^^^  y°"' '  ""P^o»-*  Xou,  to  go 

"  '  **"  °ot  go,"  he  answers,  do^edlv      "  T  ha^  *i,     •  l 
to  corne,  I  hâve  the  right  to  siy      wtl  .       r  r        "^  "«'^'^ 
looks  ôr  suspicions  ?    lL  thf  ^  ^  ^°'  P^°P'«'« 

-  ..«bewo^e'Z  lUng  t:X"be"'^"^"°^^^^^ 
anothef  fii««      V  ^    ^  °  °^  ™*^e  love  to  bi 

;  or  a  ston^    I  cant  endure  this  rauch  loiMrer     -n,. 

^'.ha?,''  T  ^°"'  "'■^"  '  ""•  ''"■o»'  -2.  X„d^ 
be  .h«  I  w,n  go  ,0  Madame  Wi„d,or  and  tell  her  ^I  " 

wa,  neve/fo^^e^tlrre';  .TT^rralT"'    ,' 
Hv»*     Whîif  f  o,  ■'^     '      "wear  u,  as  lonc:  as  I 

^00  oh,    Durand  says,with  a  jeeringlaugh, 

Pn>sj«cl  in   life?    Léonce!  Ldonw  1  -  1,  *^    "  7"^ 

-»b-  "Younrasrmaeëdïemad." i«o  a 

6       m  ner  hands  and  speaking  eamestly.     Then  bf 


^<€ 


I'':! 
f]|! 


Sl6     **THR  RlVALS»-ON  THE  STAGE  AlfDOrr, 

bends  a7i*kisses  her,  and  botb  pass  out  of  sight  and  nearinâ 
into  the  house. 

For  T.ongworth-he  stands  stunned  ;  it  is  no  figure  of 
spcech-hterally  and  absolutely  stunned.  He  takes  off  his 
hat,  a  sort  of  giddiness  upon  hini  for  a  moment.  His  wife 
Durand's  «rife  !  The  words  keep  beating  themselves  oui  in 
his  bram  over,  and  over  and  over.  This,  then,  is  the  secrel 
at  last 

He  does  not  know  how  long  he  stands.  He  hears  the 
Company  brpaking  up,  but  he  does  not  stir  ;  he  hears  him- 
self  mquired  for,  but  it  never  occurs  to  him  to  move.  Près 
ently  they  céme  flocking  out,  ând  there  is  a  confusion  of 
longues,  many  voices  sp&king  at  once,  and  wondering  where 
he  can  be.  The  angle  of  the  porch  screens  him  conipletely, 
his  cigar  has  gone  out  and  does  not  betray  him.  He  car. 
distinguish  the  voice  of  Reine,  then  Marie  speaks,  then 
Frank,  then  Durand. 

-He  only  stepped  out  to  smoke  a  cigar,"  says  Miss  Har- 
lott,  perplexedly,  «'  the  earth  cannot  hâve  oi>ened  and  swal- 
lowed  him,  can  it  ?  " 

"  You  haven't  an  old  oak  chest  anywhere  about,  hâve  you  ?  ». 
«ays  iittle  Mrs.  Beckwith,  laughing.     "  If  so,  open  it  before 
you  go  to  bed  and  you  will^find  his  moldering  remains." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  got  tired  of  us  ail  and  went  home 
promiscuously,"  says  Mrs.  Becfewith's  lord  and  master. 
"Odd  fellow  Longworth,  played  uncommon  well  to-night 
»Vent  down  on  his  knees  to  you,  Ma'amselle  Reine,  as  if  he 
iras  used  to  it,  bless  you,  and  liked  it.  Well,  good-nigut— 
good-mornihg  rather,  Miss  Hariott,  for  there  goes  two  rf 
dock.     Corne,  my  dear." 

They  go  down  to  the  gâte  and  disapi)ear  with  many  g6od 
mghts,   many  wondering  comments  where  Mr.   Longworth 
on  be.    As  Miss  Hariott  returns  he  steps  out  of  his  coa    - 
«ealnrem,  andlôlTows  Mr  frifo  the  Iious<-'    She  tums  roaadT" 
tnd  recoils  frohi  him  with  a  scream 


By  THE    GARDEN  WALL.  j,; 

"Laoïencel    Good  Heaven  i     un,,»-   ^u 

"  Ah  I  pale,  am  I  ?  ••  .  >* 

"I  always  obeyyou,  I  think,\he  sav.      «V«.. 
be,i  and  ,n,est  of  friends.     Good-nil^t^"^  ^  "*^  '"^ 


CHAPTER  XXML 

'  ^   THK   GARDKN   WAU. 

Mlv«     Mrs  n.  ,  ""*'">■  P"'"  '"  ">  tl'em- 


Ji8 


BY  TML  GARDEif  WaLL. 


hig  on  Mr.  Dcxter-s  mind.    The  very  tinicst  of  Hny  matroni 
is  Mrs.  Dexter,  and  proport  ion  ably  p.-oud  of  lier  six-foot  ion 
-a  gentle  little  àoul  more  used  to  asking  than  grantingfav  jrs, 
more  accustoraed  to  obeying  than  being  obeyed.     One  oi 
.     Jhe  docile  sort  of  little  women  who  always  mind  their  men 
folks,  whether  as  fathers,  husbands,  or  sons,  and  who  do  as 
;   thry  are  bulden,  Iike  good  grown-up  children,  ail  their  lives 
"  Ves,  Franky  dear,"  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  folding  two  mites 
o<  hands  on  her  lap;  "only  please  sit  down,  doar.     You 
fJiike  me  nervous,  fidgeting  about  so.     What  is  it  ?" 
««You  are  going  to  Boston,  this  aftemoon,  mother?" 
"Yes,  dear.    As  I  return  to'Georgia  so  soon,  I  mUst  m 
to  Boston  at  once,  if  I  go  at  ail.     I  really  must  go.  you  know, 
dear,  havmg  so  many  fçiends  there,  and  coming  North  so  sel 
dom.     And  then  I  hâve  such  a  quantity  of  shopping." 
"  How  long  do  you  propose  staying  in  Boston  ?  " 
•'  Well,  two  or  three  days,  perhaps  a  week.     Certainly  not 
l^^nger.     Your  poor  dear  uncle  hâtes  being  left  alone,  and 
you  hâve  annoyed  him  very  much,   Franky  dear,  by  your 
prolonged  absence  this  sumraer.     He  says  there  is  no  grati- 
tude  or  natiiral  feeling  left  in  the  world-young  men  are  al] 
selfish  and  hcadstrong.aUke.     You  really  should  be  carefuL 
Frank  dear,  u  will  hot  do  to  arou^e  him,  and  there  is  so 
much  at  stake.     More  than  once  hâve  I  caught  him  talking 

lo  Lawyer  Chapinan  about  Laurence  Longworlh -" 

"Never  mind  about  that,  mother,"  cuts  in  Frank,  impa 
tiently,  stridmg  up  and  down  once  more,  "  l'il  make  that  ail 
nght  before  long,  I  shall  be  home  for  good  in  less  than  3 
fortmght  Mother,"  he  cornes  back  abn.ptly  and  sits  down 
bcside  her,  "  I  wish  you  would  ask  Miss  I.andelle  to  «:>  with 
jrou  to  Boston." 

«Yes,  dear  ?»  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  interrogatively,  but  more' 
ptocidly  if  rossible  than  before,  ^' Miss  Landelle  ?     I  will  ij 

^"f"-    ^«»I^«y  Cféatiire  sBè  uh-^fc  prettitrt  F" 
w***»  I  evei  saw."      • 


^- 


•?pl 


X- 


*K   Tjf£  GARDE.f   WALL. 


shc  i.  bcautiful  :  an  angel  Id  asT'  '"'^'""'^^''  '  ^"■ 
will  love  her.  n.other  nfont  u  '"'  '"^  ^'^ood.  .  Yo« 
S"  will  ,ny  u^cle—î.  '""  ^"^"^  '^'^^  »"^  ^^^P  it.  and 

Frank  I.     V       î/         "^  *=*"  ^*^'  >'0"  ^no^  ?  " 

•ha.  d.p,h  of  darkJss  ht  nephëttr  """"''  ""'  °-  "^ 
"  Would  she  like  ,„"'' "'P^'^'^POKs  (o  rescue  him. 

'a^r.  ■•!  sh„:,r,Lr.or:  tjz,^^r  ^-  -^ 

ways  ï  sort  of  distinction  ;«     u       ^  *     ^'^'^'^^  »«  al 

»erK  attanive,  and  ttm  r  h;  ii.  '  «"""«ra™  are  so 
be  pleased  .o  uke  her  plf  v  °  ""=""«  »'"»=•  '  *^ 
Pleased  »  go."  *    ""^  "j™"  "■«»«/  '«nk  she  wil!  bc     ■ 

"  Mother  mine,"  Mr  n..r„  ~ 
i«.  tha.  you  are  4hm  ;  f,/^        !  «*'"''•  "  "')'  «""ction 
woman  f„  .he  ^oW^r'i.   rC'/'î  '""'  '""'"'"^  '■"" 
l-ave  i.  fron.  her  own  lips-l^i  *°  '       .TJT""  °'  "-' 
".d  sl,e  said  she  w„„u  b»  Ix^^^i  '  "'«"  ""^  J'"'»'*', 

«Zbiu  JZJr,J^;„t"/™k^  ^-.  „«hi^  „ 
"ill  no>  object  ?  ••  *°'^'  """«»'•     '  P'«»me  *f 

•»-.»  -...  V..  :.  kno/r..t:rrj.  .r;- 


tyai»ik. 


A;.. 


jao 


BY  THE   GARDON  WAH. 


do.  And,  mother,  suggest  to  Mîss  Landelle  that  aa  you  mai 
reniain  a  week,  and  will  be  out  a  great  deal,  shopping  aad 
-naking  calls  ail  day,  and  going  to  theaters  and  places  in  tlie 
^ening,  she  had  better  fetch  a  trunk," 

"But,    Franky,  dear,  we  are  mt  going  to  theaten  a*)d 
places.     We  shall  hâve  no  one  to  tajçe  us." 

-'Oh!  yes,  you  will.     You  need  not  wy  anything  abou^ 
ti,  but  I  wiJl  be  therc.     Just  let  it  appear  int  vague  way 
that  your  fri  mds  wiH  take  you.    The  yacht  is  to  be  launched 
to-morrow  morning,  and  will  go  at  once  to  Boston.     I  §hall  ' 
net  remair.  to  go  in  her,  but  will  follow  you  to-morrow  aTler 
noon  by  tram.     Then  of  course  I  can  take  you  both  eveiy- 
where,  and  make  things  pleasant  for  you  in  Boston.     And 
at  the  end  of  the  week,  when  the  yacht  is  ready  and  theie 
perhaps  we  can  persuade  Miss  Landelle  to  take  a  little'  trip 
with  us  to  the  Isle  of  Shoals,  and  the  coaçt  of  Maine,  and 
>o  on.     But  you  need  not  mention  this.     Just  put  your  things 
on,  hke  the  dearest  and  most  docile  oT  little  mothers,  and 
trot  around  at  once,  and  ask  Dame  Windsor  for  the  loan  of 
her  granddaughter." 

He  lifts  her  bodily  out  pf  her  chair  as  though  she  were 
6ve  instead  of  fifty,  and  kisses  her  heartily  with  a  crushina 
hug.  ^  » 

"Really,  Franky  dear  !  "  expostulates  the  good  lady,  set- 
thng  her  head-dress,  "what  a  great  boy  you  are.  Well,  asyoy 
♦ay,  tbere  is  no  time  to  lose,  so  I  will  dress  and  go  at  once. 
Ba'  if  Mrs.  Windsor  should  say  no •  " 

^  You  must  not  let  her  I  "  cries  Frank,  in  alarm.  "  I  in 
ust  upon  it,  mother!  Under  pain  of  m:-  dire  and  deep 
di.^|,leasure,  do  not  take  no  for  an  answer.  I  know  how 
éloquent  you  can  be  when  you  like,  and  in  that  éloquence  I 
place  my  trust  now.  Put  it  *o  her  strongly-as  an  immense 
yersonal  favor— no  one  car  refuse  ^<w  when  you  put  thing. 
lîroiigly  r»^  -         ^—.        -- '    .1^-       --»; 

"  ReaUv  I  '   sayi  Mrs.  Dexter,  with  «  plcMcd  tinip«r^  "Ikw 


y., 


.* 


:  as  you  mai 
opixng  and 
laces  in  Ûà 

lieaters  a*)d 

hing  abou^ 
vague  way 
>e  launched  . 
>n.     I  shall 
HTowr  after 
)oth  eveiy- 
ton.     And. 
and  theie, 
a  little  trip 
laine,  and 
/ouT  things 
)thers,  and 
he  loan  of 

I  she  wcre 
i  crushing 

lady,  set- 
ell,  as  yoy 
>  at  once. 

\.  "I  in 
and  deqp 
:now  how 
>quence  I 
iinmenie 
mt  thingr 


^V  TUE  GARDEir  WALL.  5,, 

.m,„g  résolve  i,  rtlen  in  T  D  "l";"-  ^"^    "'"  •"« 
nance.     He  has  waited  .M  K  °      '"««uom  counte- 

patience  hâve  «Zloti-^'S"'  "r"  "^■""^  »"" 
tere.     Marie  wiU  accol»!,^-  '  """  '?'»■■•  •>"'  ■"' 

■»««  be\  dre,rc7.h";*  rrr's-^'-;"  *"• 

rcgardless  of  evervfhin^  k  *  u      ^       '   °  *  *^*^"*  fi"ed  up 
told  her  of  the  Xând  ri    .  k     ^''^  °^  ^'^^^'^^     «e  ha. 

"ancestral  halls"  he  winlvl'   .     .'«'^  ^"^  '"  *»»  "'^n 
and  implore  her  to  remail  .^^^ 

that  suLy,  Sou^  rV,  :  rr  Tslhet  r'"°""^  ^" 
Is  Afrs.  Windsor  likely  toobjecr?  Fr^rÎ'Vf  '  '°  "^  ''''  ' 
ous  with  love  and  dcLhtTt  ,  ..  ^^^  «'°^*  '»»"'"- 
castles.  and  then  ail  t.  ""^'  '^ese  enchanting  ai. 

the  image  of  DuL"  a    ,:  rirjtr  t''  '^'^^^  ^^ 

oer  holdinfrher  haad*^Jii^^Li^3^  ''^^'^  ^i^ 

«-^-Ter:itti^;it:j^:f^      -^^-^ 

e«ïue  a.  the  n.ost  roman ticWrl'%'  '^""^^°;"'  ^°^  P'^^' 

■Faulklanddress.  éndX"  1^  '  ^°"'^  ^"'?'  i»  "ii 

.  |fla  Uie  tuscatc  visions  tiimbl';  into  the  c  ,»h 


SM 


BT  rSB  GAXDEN  WALL. 


Marie  Lanjeflo  is  not  a  romantic  girl,  le  more  tbac  lai 
pecta  ;  she  is  foo  beautiful  herself  to  overmuch  prize  bsaut) 
in  a  man,  but  even  she  cannot  be  altcgether  insensible  to  the 
dark  charni  of  that  face.  Nothing  could  be  morç  tame,  and 
spiritless,  and  unenictional  than  her  rendering  of  Julia,  ex- 
ceptin  that  one  particular  scène  where.she  renounces  him. 
That  she  cettainly  did  with  relish.  Frank  is  jealous,  but  ever 
b  his  jealousy  he  has  to  own  she  gives  him  no  cause.  Sho. 
has  avoided  Durand  ever  since  his  coming,  in  the  most  pro- 
nounced  manner.  To  air^outward  seeniing  Longworth  has 
much  more  cause  for  suspicion  than  he  ;  and  yet,  there  is  a 
prophétie  instinct  in  love  that  teHs  him  it  is  not  so,  that  Du- 
rand is  Marie's  lover,  or  has  been,  not  Reine's.  .   • 

M^  Dexter  descends,  'and  Mr.  Dexter  clears  fitom  hii 
maïUy  brow  the  traces  of  moody  thought^  and  escorts  hèr  to 
within  a  short  distance  of  the  Stone  House.  He  lets  her 
enter  aloçe  ;  it  is  his  diplomatie  désire  not  to  appeaîr  in  the 
natter  at  ail. 

"Don't  maké  your  call  too  long,  mother,"  he  says,  at 
parting  ;  •'  I  will  hang  around  hère  until  yôu  come." 

Mrs.  Dexter  promises,  of  course,  but  the  call  is  nearly  aii 
Imm*  for  ail  that,  and  Frank  is  fuming  with  repressed  im- 
patience before  she  comes.  ^ 

'•  Well ?"  he  says,  feverishly,  the  in^nt  she  appears. 

«'  VVell,  dear,"  answers  sniiling  Mrs.  Dexter,  "it  is  ail  riglit 
Mrs.  Windsor  objected  a  little  at  first,  at  the  shoitness  of  the 
notice,  but  she  bas  agreed  to  let  her  go." 

lier  son's  face  grows  radiant  onie  more. 

**  Ah  !  1  knew  your  éloquence  would  move  a  heart  of  flint, 
little  mother.  And  Marie— Miss  Landelle— what  did  s/u 
•ay?" 

"  Miss  Landelle  is  a  very  quiet  yoimg  lady.  deâf  ;  she  nevei 

^^^^"^t|ch;  bqt»he  snaile4aBAJaeki;^Meas€dj.ané  said  she 

woyld  like,  to  vîsit  Boston  very  imich.  if  grandmamftia  vas 

perfectly^willing.     Soit  ii  ail  scUled  t^y  dear  boy,  and  I 


^^iÉK.>^"» 


>re  ditt  nu 
prize  bîaut) 
nsibh  to  the 
rç  tame,  and 
of  sjulia,  ex- 
ounces  him. 
>us,  but  ever 
cause.  She, 
le  most  pro- 
ngworth  bas 
ît,  there  îs  a 
50,  that  Du* 

« 

irs  fKom  hb 
corts  hèr  to . 
He  lets  her 
;>pear  in  the 

ie  says,  at 

le." 

is  nearly  aii 

pressed  im- 

>pears. 

is  ail  riglit 

tness  of  the 


sait  of  flint, 
lat  Jid  sAe 

;  she  nevei 
tiâsaid  she 
lamma  irai 
>oy,  and  1 


^r  THE   GARDES   IVALL,  3,3 

of  Z;»  '''•  "  '  '"^"^^  ^''^^-^     I>'d-did  any  one  .peak 

«uother  with  a  ICatt       ?  ^"°''^°"'  Frank,"  says  his 

'.    '^l  net  Uke  Boston  Jvhir^"       '  ^"*^  «^X  Miss  Marie 
-how  it  to  herV"  '        ''''  ^°'  ^°"^  ^*^'"«  ^''e  one  to 

worid  is  quite  g7od  enS    .  T  T^^*"     ^^  °°«  '"  *« 
.Wlndso^sVanS/Ct^^^^^^^    ^^^  "'•^• 

rbn^etirsrh^^^^""^-  ^^«^-":Xi 

even  old  Unct  WwortLX?  "?  ^"'P'^  P^^-«— ' 

unue  iX)ng«rorth  can  «nd  no  flaw  hère    Ai,HTr_,i 
Longworlh  has  been  heard  to  say,  he  «^7*,  hl  ,1 

. 'z:  hi:  'rzrjTu.Tir-  -^  r  -- 

Ma,ie  and  Ça,her*e  bn,a,  e^g^edl'i^LT:::^'*'  ^f 
pause.  ,„  ,he  doo^ay  .0  ga^e  a^d  wonder.     '  **    • 

Uv?    We  T  or^  .,-  1  •         ,  »"/"«,  rente — whatdid\>u 
"•y*-     >es,  I  am  packin»     I  think  that  will  do  Path^ 
fO°  ma>  go,  and  thanks,  veiy  n,uch  "  '  ^"^'^'""«î 

^JThe jsoman  départs,  and  2tfarie,^cHrhêr  kne^  ,^  \  - 

•r«.  on  her  irunk  and  looks  at  her  sister  ^  ^  ^ 

Corne  in  and  shut  the  door.  Petite      T  «>«  -.• 
».  .  -cck.  and  oh.  li..,.  ù«.,:uT;^  \  l^'S'Z'Z 


&i^Miè'"'îi:}ài^'  .■-^^,..  ■ 


534 


BY  THE   GARDEN  WALL. 


repiieve.     Since  Léonce  came,  iiiy  life  has  bcen  iiiseiable  * 
To  get  away  even  for  a  few  days  is  happiness  unspeakable.*" 
Reine  stands  looking  at  her  withoût  a  word,  her  daik. 
Bolenin  cyes  seeniing  darker  and  more  solemn  even  thao 
usual. 

"  \Vhy  stand  there  silent  ?  "  Marie  goes  on,  in  a  low,  con 
centrated  tone.  "  Why  do  you  not  begin  ?  Why  not  tel] 
me  it  is  not  right,  that  it  is  my  duty  to  stay,  and  so  onl 
Why  do  you  stand  there  and  Kiok  at  me  like  a  sphinx  ? 
•Vhy  do  you  not  speak?" 

*•  1  hâve  nothing  to  say.     \yhat  does  it  matter  whether  I 
Bl>eak  or  ain  silent?    You  will  do  as  you  please.     Wlié^e  are    ' 
yougoing?" 
"To  Boston." 

"Withwhom?"  1f' 

"  Mrs.  Dexter."  î        \ 

And  as  Marie  speaks  the  name  her  loveljr  upralsed  eyet 
flash  defiancok     Reine's  Hp  curls. 

"  Soit  I    And  with  her  son,  of  course  ?  " 
"  There  is  no  of  course.     No^  we  go  alone  ;  Mr.  Frank 
remains  to  look  after  his  yacht." 

"  When  did  Madame  Dexter  ask  you  ?  " 
"  This  niorning — an  hour  ago."  ^ 

"  Why  did  she  ask  you  ?  " 

"♦When  did  she  ask  you — why  did  she  ask  you?'" 
Marie  breaks  into  one  of  her  faint  laughs.  "  You  go  on  like 
the  catechism.  Petite.  She  asked  nie,  she  was  good  enough 
to  say,  because  she  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  me,  and 
thought  my  companionship  would  enhance  the  i)leasure  of 
her  trip.  Now,  Petite,  excuse  me,  we  go  at  two,  and  it  ii 
half-past  twelve  already." 

"  Marie,  I  am  not  going  to  rempnstrate— it  is  of  no  use 

lamnot  going  ^  talk  of  right  or  wrong— you  do  mt  care 

"WiTwtïï\2Sk  orprudfince.     I  wonder  )ou  aie  not  afiaid." 
Marie  throws  back  her  hcad  with  a  gesture  of  dsdain. 


-f 


,~ik 


^ 


1  iiiseiable  « 

speakable." 

,  her  daik, 

even  thas 

a  low,  con 

liy  not  tel! 

nd  so  oiv? 

a  sphinx  7 

■  whether  I 
VVhê'-e  ue   ' 


*F  THE   GARD  EN  WALL. 


ralsed  ejea 
Mr.  Frank 

* 

t  you  ?  '  " 
go  on  like 
ad  enough 
3  me,  and 
leasure  of 
,  and  it  it 

)f  no  use 
mt  care 
)t  afraid." 
sdaiiL 


3^5 

■'*  Ot  irhom  ?     Of  what  >     r  «^  .  ^     /•   • , 
knows  the  penalty."  ^        "  ^^  dare-hi 

his  gxûrdl|J.av  be  wh  1  '          '  ^u"'''"'^  '  ^™  •^^'•^•^-     0° 
"Ah  V^J^  ''^  W""e  you  are  here^ " 

selfish  !„  hi,n  to  obiect      Z  I A    '  ?     ""^  '"''""■''"'y 

Ke.1.  croaler,  and  say  „o  „,„:;  al^.  i"    '"  °''""^'  '"=^ 


«  J  r^!!  n"*  ^*^'  ^  '*"'"  ^''^  ^^y«'  "  *ith  Léonce      Hoi, 
«ud.  I  shali  mm  you)  oh  f  sister  beloved      Take  Tare,  I  « 


a^  w!  &  ^-^  *   «  ' 


/- 


-à. 


5J<5 


BY  THE  GARD  EN  WAlL 


y 


treat,  and  do  not,  do  not  fail  to  reurn  at  the  end  of  du 
week.     Let  nothin^  teinpt  yoii  to  linger  longer." 

"  Certaiirfy  not,  Petite ,  why  should  I  ?     Make  Léonce 
go  beforc  I  corne  back,  if  you  can.     It  will  be  best  for  ail  - 
Tcll  him  I  will  Write  to  hini,  and  forgive  his  coming  when  hc 
U  fairly  gone." 

So  they  part.  Reine  stands  and  watches  the  carriage  oui 
of  sight,  stiU  with  that  duU  foreboding  in  her  inind  of  evil  to 
come. 

"  Is  she  altogether  heartless,  I  wonder  ?  "  she  thinks  in  spile 
rfherîclt  "  Nothing  good  will  corne  of  this  joumey,  I  feel 
that.  And  last  night  Léonce  promised  to  go.  Who  is  to 
tell  what  he  will  do  now  ?  " 

But  when,  a  few  hours  later,  as  she  walks  purposely  in  thé 
direction  of  Mft.  Longworth's  and  meets  him,  and  tells  him 
m  rather  a  tremulous  voice,  he  takes  it  very  quietly  His 
daik  face  pales  a  little,  and  there  is  a  quick  flash  at  the  sound 
of  Mrs.  Dexter's  name-beyond  that  no  token  of  émotion 

"So,"  be  says,  "shejs  gone,  and  with  Monsieur  Dexter's 
mother  When  does'  M.  Dexter  propose  joir^ing  them,  for 
ne  IS  sbll  hère?" 

"Not   at  aU.      How  unkind    you  are,   Léonce I  ai  if 
Marie " 

He  smiles.  - 

//Marie  can  do  no  wrong-you  and  I  know  that,  PeS 
1  »id  she  leave  no  message  for  me  ?  " 

"  None-except  a  message  you  will  not  care  to  hear  " 

"StillIwiUhearit." 

"She  bade  me  tell  you,  then,  te  leave  Baymouth-yoi 
know  why;  and  that  when  you  are  fairly  gone  she  will  corre 
ipond  witb  you,  and  try  to  forgive  you  for  iiavi/ig  corne  " 

"AnI  she  will  correspond  with  me  and  try  to  forgive 
me,'  repeats  D  irand,  and  laughs.  «  That  af  least  is  kin  J  • 
Jut  Mang  is  an  ange!  of  kindness  in  ail  tbingi      For  mm\xt\ 


cmidescer.sion  1  am  iiulecl  uratefiil.- 


..Jï^ff'^- 


end  of  du 

ike  Léonce 
•est  for  ail. 
ng  whén  he 

arriage  oui 
d  of  evil  to 

nks  in  spile 
ney,  I  fcel 
Who  is  to 

sely  in  the 
1  tells  him 
ietly.     His 

the  Sound 
émotion, 
r  Dexter's 

them,  for 

:el  as  if 

Ht 

it,  Petite. 

:ear." 

uth — yoi 
kill  corre 
:onie." 
>    forgivc 

is  kinJ; 

soina< 


sr  r//£  ^AkDEs  utall. 


i«r 


~x 


Andy*Du  wjll  go?" 

I»;  for  beh<«re  n,e,  my  little  one.  I  would  no7wilingly  L 
you  annoyance.     I  wiU  remain  until  Maiie  returns-X  can 

tl^Z  r  7?  '"'''  ^^''"  '  ''°*  ""^"  *^«  grandmanin,a 
dles,  and  the  future  ,s  secure-and  she  looks  as  if  she  might 
hve  forever.  that  stately  grandmam.na.     I  „mst  speak  one 

parting  word  to  Marie-^hen  indeed "  ^ 

Reine^ighs  resignedly.     It  is  of  no  use  contesting    he 

uTheeWerl^^::^''"^^^'^^'^^^^-^-^^ 

"You  may  as  well  say-your  parting  word  now.  then, 
Ltonce,    she  says  resolutely.  "for  this  is  the  very  last  téi. 

^f  '  "'JT  ^"\  ""'  '°"«  "^  J'^"  ''^y  •»  B-y^outh,  I  shall 
remam  stnctly  m  the  house.  I  should  not  hâve  met  you  to- 
day  but  ,t  was  necessary  you  should  hear  of  Marie's  départ- 
^^fi«t  from  me.     Now  I  shall  say  adieu,  and  u,eet  you  no 

"  M.  Longwortb  comni^nds  this  ?  " 

^  tl^^'^Alt  ™^  ^'^'"'  **^  g«"<l™other  forbids  it,  people 
talk  and  thatis  enough.  You  know  how  I  abhor  eveiythL 
chndestme.  Go  or  stay  as  you  please,  I  will  trouble  myself 
about  it  no  more."  ^  /  »-•* 

angel,  now  and  always.     I  ought  ^.ot  to  hX  corne.     But  I 
.  swear  to  you  that  when  Marie  returns  I  wilT^o.     I  will  be 

patient  and  wait  although  it  see^s  almost  impossible,  and 

she  ,s  so  cold-Mon  Dieu,  so  cold.     Adieu,  my  little  s  ster 

and  a  thousand  thanks  for  ail  your  goodness  " 
Ile  kjsses  the  hands  he  holds.     At  the  moment  a  man 

passes  along  the  opposite  sidewalk-Mr.   Long^orth  on  his 

•ay  to  dmner.     He  lifts  his  hat,  and  passes  rapidly  on. 
_^ine  Ajashes  wLth  v^tion,=and  dravv^away^^^^^^^^ 

L6once,  we  are  in  the  streeh  how  can  you  f  .rget  y.,a. 

■•il  •'     M .  Ix>ngworth  saw  us."  - 


^ 


/r 


iti 


êr  THR  GAUÙÈff  VltALL, 


•H 


**  W^  Fètite,"  Durand  says,  coolly,  "  and  vhat  ihcn  ?  h 
tttotber  may  kiss  his  sister's  hand.  Mr.  Longworth  is  ôc  hia 
way  to  diniv"-  and  will  favor  me  with  niore  languid  grande 
seigneur  airs  tnan  ever.  He  does  me  the  honor  to  be  jéalou% 
Reine.  Ma  foi!  I  appear  to  be  a  cause  of  jealousy  to  more 
Uian  one  gentleman  in  your  little  country  town." 

Reine  leaves  hini  abruptly,  and  goes  home,  feeling  vexed 
with  Léonce  for  his  salute,  with  Longworth  for  having  seen 
i»,  with  Marie  for  her  depa^ture,  with  herself  for  no  particular 
féason,  with  ail  the  world  in  fact.  But  she  is  too  generoua 
»nd  frank-hearted  for  moods  and  fancies,  and  sîts  down  to  the 
piano  and  plays  away  her  vai«)rs.  Presently  it  grows  too  dark, 
and  then  she  rises,  takes  a  shûwl,  and  hurries  away  to  hei 
fiivorite  twilight  seat,  on  the  garden  wall. 

She  sits  a  very  long  time,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  het 
cyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  water,  and  thinks.     Five  montha 
scarcely  hâve  passed  since  she  came  to  this  place,  and  how 
rauch  has  happened,  more  than  in  ail  her  life  before.     She 
was  unhappy  at  first,  but  that  has  wom  away.     Léonce  frets 
her;   but  that  is  only  a  passing  annoyance,  nothing  deepw 
A  subtle  sensé  of  happiness  has  corne  to  her  of  late  ;  she  ac- 
cepta it  without  caring  to  analyze   its  nature   too  closely. 
Her  grandmother  has  grown  more  kind  and  tolérant  since 
her  engagement— perhaps  it  is  that.    She  Iftes  Miss  Hariott, 
more  than  likes  her;  it  is  always  good,  and  restful,  and  com 
fortac;';  to  be  with  her.     A  real  woman  friend  is  such  a  truc  * 
And  satisfactory  thing.     She  likes  Baymouth— duU  but  not 
Jreary,  monotonous  but  not  wearisome.     And  then  theie  is 
Mr.  Longworth — she  pauses  in  her  musing  with  a  siaile  and 
a  faint  blush.      Yes,  there  is  always    Mr.  Longwoith.      It 
is  well,  after  ail,  to  hâve  one's  future  husband  chosen  for  one 
—one  can  take  him  and  feel  that  self- will  and  sentiment^ 
dangerous  4hings  always— phave  nothing  to  do  with  it.     Ye% 
^Qiftainly  itis  welli— they  manage  thèse  things  best  L  Frmnwr 
there  can  be  no  doubt      Mr.  Lor.gworth  is  very  ({ood-  -he  if 


!    / 


.  hoiband  OB.  car.  be  pioud  of,  he  ha.  a  geneious  and  noble 
neart,  he  m  not  mercenary  or  he  would  be  Madame  Windsor»! 
heur  to^ay,  and  she  and  her  sister  toiling  in  London  fora 
•canty  Imng  How  very  handso.ne  and  gallant  he  looked 
last  night  m  the  scarlet  and  gold  of  an  English  officer 

^«.decidedlyheishandsome,  and  of  fine  présence 
too  which  ,s  best  of  all-man  is  nothing  if  not  intellectual 
It  does  not  so  much  signify  in  wort,en_it  is  not  ei^pected  of 
Aem  ;  people  who  ought  to  know  sïy  they  are  better  without 
too  much  mind,  but  men-oh  !  a  nian  should  be  strong  and 

An'lt'^ïï  T  ^""^  ''°^'''  "P"»''*'  mènerons,  and  true  of  heart 
AU  this  M  Long^vorth  is,  she  knows  ;  has  she  not  had  proof 
ofi  ?     Hdwgrateful,  for  example,  is  that  blind  girl  ;    hoi, 
weU  Miss^anott  hkes  him-Miss  Hariott.  incapable  of  lik 
mg  anythin^  selfish,  or  sordid,  or  mean.     How  her  haughti 
grandmothe^  seeks  and  respects  his  opinîon-her  proud  im 
penous  granàn^other  who  tolérâtes  no  advice.nor  interférence 
from  any  onç^^else.     How  strange  that  he  should  ever  hav« 
had  a  grande  passion  for  that  passée  Madame  Sheldon      Do 
men  reaJly  outUve  and  forget  suc/i  things  as  that  ?     He  ha, 
tol4  her  he  loves  ^r,  and  he  is  a  man  of  truth.     That  faim 
flush  nses  again  as  she  recalls  his  looks,  his  words,  the  fire  in 
the  eyes  that  hâve  gazed  on  her.      They    are    extremel, 
handsomeeyes,  and  perhaps  most  handsome  when  anger  L 
well  as  love  flashes  from  them.     If  she  c^^uld  oniy  tell  him 
*ll-but  for  the  présent  that  is  hopeless,  and  he  has  promised 
to  trust  her.    What  is  affection  without  trust,  firm  abidinj 
faith  and  trust  through  ail  things,     îfe  must  wait  yet  a  little 
longer  and  believe  in  her  despite  appearances,  and  meâtt- 
nme  she  H  happy  and  Baymouth  is  pleasant,  and  eighteen  a 

ieUghtfiil  âge,  and  love WeU,  love,  of  course,   '  ±e  very 

best  thing  m  ail  the  world."    t* 
Shewraps  her  shawl  q^^Utle^osefcafound-hwyfir 


"«P^bcr  nights  hâve  a  ring  of  sharpness,  and  «jitches  a 
l»etat«ï  moon  making  its  way  through  wody  clo„ ',  up  to 


feaMÏâiiiffiSiSikiai^ÉËiŒ 


^ 


■  ■■)-.> 


330 


§k   THR   GARD  EN   tVAOL. 


Ae  centre  of  the  sky.  Moonlight  is  a  lovcly  hing— thi 
«rorld  tâkes  a  touçh  of  sadness  -inder  its\  pale  cold  glimme^ . 
life  and  its  noises  are  hushed,  and  the,  soûl  âwakes  instinct 
ively  to  the  feeling  that  human  life  is  not  ail,  and  that  greai 
and  soletnn  things  are  written  in  that  star-stûdded  sky.  But 
Reine  is  neither  lonely  nor  sad,  i|Ujp  her  presentiments  and  vex 
ations  are  gone  wiith  that  dead  day,  and  she  sings  as  shé  sits. 
\nd  presently  a  step — a  step  she  knows — cornes  dovm  the 
path  behind  her  ;  but,  though  a  new  gladness  cornes  intohet 
ejea,  9he  does  not  look  round,  but  sings  softly  on  : . 

,  .:       "  Oh  I  moonlîght  deep  and  tender 

This  sweetest  subimer  flown,      ,  ,  *  ' 

Your  mist  of  golden  splendor  .     ^ 

'       On  our  betrdthal  ghQne."  >  •.     - 


% 


!       i 


'M' 


The  step  ceases,  he  is  beside  her  ;  nç  has  heard  her  song 
but  he  does  not  speak.  She  turns  and  looks  up,  and  to  the 
day  of  her  death  never  forgets  tl^yobk  his  face  wears.  The 
sraile  fades  from  her  lips,  |h/j|l^ness.'' from  ber  eyes  ;  hei 
singing  ceases,  ^e  sits  ereci  and  gazes  at  hira  in  consterna- 
tion. .' j^ 

"  Whàt  is  it  ?  "  she  a^s,  with  a  gasp. 

"  Very  little,"  he  ^swers.  His  voice  is  low  and  stem, 
his  face  fixed  and  inflexible.  "  Very  l'ttle,  perhaps,  in  youi 
eyes.     Only  this^rjl  ôverheard  you  last  nighi." 

For  a  moment  ilhe  does  not  know  wh^t  he  means — then  it 
flashctf  upon  her,  £^nd  her  face  blanches. 

"You  niean "  she  says,  in  a  terrified  voice. 

**  I  mean  yqur  interview  with  Monsieur  Léonce  Durand, 
in  Miss  Hariott's  garden  last  night.  I  did  not  go  out  eaves- 
dropping.  I  went  out  honestly  enough  to  smoke,  but  | 
chanced  to  overhear.  I  fie^d  him  claim  '.he  right  to  be  witb 
fOu.     I  hsard  him  call  you  his  wife 


5Ke  allers  a  low,*  friglitened  cryi  uid  tumt  firbtn  ^lum  i^ 


envers  her  face. 


4*« 


*   'V 


BY  TUA  GARDEN  WALL.  33/ 

I  am  not  going  to  hurt  you.     I  am  not  even  going  to  re' 
l^rpach  you.     There  is  not  much  to  be  said  between  yo«  and 
ne  ;  but,  great  Heaven  I  ho«r  I  hâve  been  deceived  in  you  I 
l  stand  and  look  at  you  and  am  stunned  by  it.     I  thought  1 
kne.v  spmethmg  of  women  and  men  ;  I  thought  in  4  be 
|K,tted  self-conc«t  I  could  read  the  soûl  in  the  face.     I  Iclked 
u»  yours  that  day  on  the  deck  of  the  ship  and  thought  I  saw 
a  brave  frank^  fearless  heart,  shining  out  of  te.der,  and  truth- 
fiil,  and  beautifui  eyes.     And  tlic  end  is  this  !  " 

She  does  not  speak  a  word.     She  sits  like  one  stunned  b, 
a  blow  so  sudden,  so  cruel,  so  cnishing.  that  it  deadens  fecl 
ing  and  speech. 

"Your  motivefor  what  you  hâve  done,"  he  goes  rapidly 
on,     .s  not  so  difficult  to  understand.     You  knew  that  what 
ever  shadow  of  chance  you  stood  unmarried,  you  stood  no 
«hadovv  of  chance  married,  and  married  to  a  Frenchman 
You  «rere  naturally  ambitious  to  obtain  your  rightfui  inheri^ 
tance,  and  for  the  sal^y  of  that  inherita.ce  you  hâve  plotted, 
and  schemed,  and  duped  us  ail.     You  >layed  your  part  a 
Lyd.a  Lan^.sh  very  well  last  night,  but  you  shine  far  môre 
bnlliantly  off  the  stage  than  on.     You  ki^w  how  to  make 
your  penrers.t3,charn,ing,  your  pétulance  bewitching  :  you, 
very  pnde  and  défiance  held  a  curious  charm.     You  képt  me 
off.  and  knew  that  in  doing  it  you  h.red  me  on.     You  \vere 
he  farthest  possible  from  any  idéal  .vo.nan.  and  yet  you  cap- 
.va  ed  me  w.th  your  very  faults.     I  believed  in  you  with  ^■ 
rusting  a  simphcuy  as  t^rawest  and  most  uniicked  cub  of 

LTi        Tf  '''  *"^^«'-"  ^°  -•"  y°"  because  you 
«eemed  so  hard  to  win.     It  was  a  ^ll-played  game  •  bu" 
your  husband,  with  a  man's  natural  impatience  for  his  wtf" 
coine»  before  your  plans  are  matured.  and  spoils  ail.    Once 


^^  .         .  ......U.V.U,  a.\\\i.  bpoiis  au.    unce 

hrfore,  »  wouiiui  deteived  me,  a  girl  younger  even  than  you  ; 
but  I  wa.  .  hot-headed  boy  then.  and  her  task  was  ea., 
Now.  m  man  .  maturily.  with  the  average  of  man'.  Jud^en. 


iii 


mGMTWALL. 


m  niost  .hings,  you  hâve  donc  it  again,  with  a  skill  and  cle» 
wness  ne  oue  can  admire  more  thaa  [  do.  J^aara  '.ong 
rorth  was  only  weak  and  empty-headed  ;  you  are  heaitlesa, 
treacherous,  and  false  to  the  core !" 

She  has  net  spoken  or  stirred— he  hasgiveB  her  no  chance 
to  speak  ;  but  if  he  had,  it  would  hâve  been  the  samt      d 
her  life  were  the  forfeit,  she  could  not  save  it  by  uttering  a 
kound.     He  tums,  with  thèse  last  harsh  and  merciless  wordi , 
and  M)  leaves  her. 


-» 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

'  NIGHTFALL. 

BLEAK  aftemoon  early  in  October.  Jn  Mr». 
Windsor's  pretty  sitting-room  a  fireburns  cozily,  and 
casts  its  red  gleams  between  the  crinison  silk  win 
dow  curtains.  In  a  great  anu-chair  before  this  fire,  wrapped 
in  a  large  fleecy  white  shawl,  Mrs.  Windsor  sits.  A  smaU 
table,  with  a  pitcher  of  steaming  and  fragrant  lemonade  is  be- 
side  her— a  tumbler  is  in  her  hand,  and  she  sips  this  beverage 
at  intervais,  as  she  lies  back  and  contemplâtes  drearily  the 
fire.  In  a  gênerai  way  this  lady  is  uplifted  out  of  the  sphère 
of  ordinary  mortals,  but  influenza  is  a  dread  leveler,  and  in 
duenza  has  laid  its  fell  hand  upon  her.  Still  an  empress 
aiight  suffei  with  cold  in  her  impérial  head,  and  the  snuffles 
m  hor  august  nose,  and  lose  no  whit  of  her  majesty.  \Ve  do 
nol  say  that  Mrs.  Windsor  does  anything  so  vulgar  as  snuffle , 
ire  do  say  she  is  invalided  with  cold  in  her  head. 

She  is  not  alone  ;  her  younger  granddaughter  is  sitting 
by  the  window  looking  fmt  with  e/es  bore  dreary  than  hei 
gtanOraother's  own,  at  the  gray,  fast-drifting,  fast-darkening 


*kyi  m  Ute  wiad-toised  trees;  aiïd  thè  threatènîSg  of  stora 
at  hand     It  is  not  oving  to  any  spécial  pleasure  Mrs  Wind 


IfiGOnfALL. 


33J 


•or  takes  m  her  younger  granadaughtci's  socitty  tnat  she 
has  her  herc  ;  but  the  cold  in  her  head,  and  the  peifect  tem- 
pest  of  sneezes  that  now  and  then  convulsé  her,  hâve  flown 
to  her   Visual  organs.    With  eyes  wrak  and.  watering  one 
cannot  amuse  one's  self  with  a  book,  ànd  to  sit  hère  ail  da, 
âlone,  and  unable  to  read,  is  not  to  be  thought  of.     Reine 
then  .s  hère  to  read  to  her.     The  book  is  a  novd,  and  an 
mteresting  one,    but   it    lies   closed   in    Reine's   lap   now 
Grandmamrtaha4had  sufficient  unto  the  day  of  fiction  and 
the  sorro^jdMfteroes  and  heroines  ;  vexations  of  her  own 
^«  (x^guiwpKbsorb  her. 

" That  warao,"  she  says,  pettishly  ;  " thèse  book»  ^.e  aU 
•Wce  Love  must  hâve  been  invented  for  the  pecuniarv 
benefit  of  the  people  who  write  novels.  Ring  for  Jane  ;  thi. 
lemonade  is  cold." 

Reine  rises  and  obeys.    The  bleak  light  of  the  overcast 
^ernoon  falls  full  upon  her  face  as  she  does  so.  and  Mrs. 
VVindsor  is  struck  by  the  change  in  it.      More  than  once 
dunng  thepast  week  that  change   has  surprised  her.     A 
greal  change  is  there,  but  it  is  so  subtle  she  can  hardly  tell 
m  what  it  consists.     It  can  hardly  be  loss  of  color,  for  Reine 
never  has  color-it  is  more  that  her  dusk  co.nplexion  looks 
blanrh^d.     It  is  still  more  tlie   dreary.  lonciy  look   in  the 
large  eyes,  the  curve  of  the  mouth  fixed  in  a  sort  of  stoadfast 
patiem  pain.     She  does  not  sing,  she  does  not  ,.Iay,  she 
does  not  talk,  she  does  not  smlle.     She  never  gocs  out,  she 
loses  Êesh  and  appetite  daily,  she  cornes  slowly  vvlien  she 
is  bidden,  aod  goes  wearily  wjien  she  is  dismissed,  with  little 
more  of  vitality  than  an  automaton  might  show. 

••  Reine,"  her  grandmoiher  says,  and  says  it  not  unkindly. 
jret  with  more  of  curicsity  than  kindness,  "what  is  the  mat- 
^IT  ^°"  -  ^ -"  go  gliding  about  the  house  Uka  »Hn^ 
«im»  gray  gfibst.    \Sre  yoù  not  well  ?  "  " 


"  I  am  very  well,  madame." 
She  reiumes  her  seaL     Jane 


ipp«ars  with  a  fretb   ud 


Il  '^ 


S34 


r 


mCHTPALL 


«teaming  pitcher  jf  leinohaJe.  and  departâ.  The  /oun«  ni 
«istlessly  takes  np  her  book. 

"Shall  I go  on,  madame?  " 

"No,  l'm  tired  of  it;  paying  attention  makes  iry  hwMÎ 
ache.  But  you  may  as  well  remain.  I  exp.-tt  a  pei«T 
*ho  o«r.s  me  a  sum  of  money;  hc  wiU  be  hère  direcUy. 
Jnd  he  wiU  want  you  to  write  him  a  receipt  Stay  until  he 
nomes."  . 

She  leans  back  and  doses  her  eyes.     She  is  a  trifle  curioui 
«tiU  concemmg  the  change  in  her  granddaughter,  but  she 
mil  mquire  no  further.     Can  it  be  her  sister's  absence? 
Nonsensel  they  seem  fond  of  each  other,  but  to  fret  over  a 
week's  séparation  would  be  ridicUlous  indçed.     The  house 
seeras  desolate  without  Marie's  fair,  bright  face-She  is  aston- 
ished  and  vexed  at  the  way  she  missçs  her.     Then  Long- 
worth  is  absent  too.^as  been  absent  for  five  days.  and,  what 
18  remarkable,  was  with  Reine  in  the  garden  the  night  before 
his  departure,  and  yet  left  «rithout  stepping  in.     That  is  not 
Uke  Laurence.     She  opens  her  eyes  and  glances  at   the 
motionless  gray  figure  at  the  window. 

"  Reine." 

"  Yes,  madame."  , 

"Did  Laurence  Longw^arth  teU  you  thjtf  nighl  Ia«t  week, 
wbere  he  was  going  next  moming  ?  " 

"  He  did  not,  madame." 

"Did  he  tell  you  he  was  going  at  ail  ?  " 

"No,  madame." 

"  Did  he  not  even  bid  you  good-by  ?  " 

"  Not  even  that" 

"Curiousl"   says  Mrs.  Wndsor,  and  knits  her  browa 
•  »Vhy  then  did  he  corne  ?     What  did  he  say  ;  " 

«'  I  cannot  remember  ail  he  said,  madame.     Certainly  aot 
*^°"^  ^bo"t  going  away  the  next  moming." 


-^Ti.  Windsor TJrnsuiwh^herTkeen,  sTdelong.  susprd^,^         7^ 
look.    She  u  an  odd   mixture  of  frankness  and  réticence  ^ 


',^ 


v.*'r-V*- 


îm 


MGHTFSHLU  «JC 

Toung  woman  ,s  not  a  sentimental  «mpleton.     And  if  4^^ 
hâve  quarreled,  what  hâve  they  quarreled  aboui  ?^     ^ 

do!e'  rT  r  *^*'  °"'"  '"^'  "^  *»  ti™«  drops  into  • 
doze.    Reine  throws  aside  the  novel  with  a  tired  skh Tid 
^cs  apathetically  enough   another  book.      I    is  f  'b^fc 
that  never  leaves  Mrs.  Windsor's  room-it  lies  beside  aÎ - 

pondérons  family  Bible,  and  likefh.RîKÏ  •         ?  ^ 

ite  n«n--     T»  •  *"*^  ^''*^*^  'S  rarely  opèhed  bv 

^Tott.Be*ofMoth«^WBW.4    From  hcr  Aftctlc.. 

GcbaoB.**: 
Rem.  look.  .,  A.  faded  word»  long.     Tbis  i,  Ae  da,hi„. 

lOïea  mth  ail  the  love  on»  heart  ever  held,  «-hose  memor, 
U  -orejo  her  .«Il  «^  .,,  U.e  worW  l^.ide  ^e  ^ 
fearned  why  L.„gwor.h ha.  .on  «,clo« ai,lace  .o  ,h«L^ 
«7  i  d,e  wonders  ,f  George  Wi„d«.r  reallylooked  like  .^r. 
UUt  fajr  bn-ad^onldered.  .Uong.    Her  Lher  „a.  wF^d 

M?''  '^î        '  •^'*     "^  """'™»'  «"«VS  ailing  and 
k.l,3T^.     """"^  ""'"'  ""'^  *^'  ''«»  Uke  S  „T' 


^r*^  •,»««'  "«  "Oble  deed.     M,  ™,d„  g^ 


^    ,: 


i 


•.  T 


SJ6 


NIGBTFALL. 


|^.loY£^ka.^i  whrrn  thi-  wôrd  waa  only  anothcr  camr 
%x  miseîy.  Love  was  of  Heaven,  a  plant  from  païadise 
ncver  mten'ded  to  bloom  and  blossoni  in  the  désert  herc 
below  I  -^^ .  /     ^^^ 

She  opens  the  book  ^X.  random-h  isabook  beloved  W- 
.,    ways,  aii^well  known.    A  riiarker  is  l^lween  the  leaves  at 
the  chapter  caUed  "The  King's  Highwa^  of„the  Holy  Cross." 
ATid  Reine  begins  to  read.  / 

"Sometimes  thou  shalt  be  Jeft  by4)d,  other  tiraes  thou 
shalt  be  afflicted  by  thy  neighbor,  aqd  what  is  more,  thou 
shalt  pften  be  a  trouble  to  thyself. 

«  For  God  would  hâve  thee  to  suffer  tribulations  without 
conifort,  and  whoUy  to  subject  thyself  to  him,  an^  to  become 
more  humble  by^  tribulation.  '  > 

"Dost  thou  think  to  escape  that  which  no  mortal  couW 
evèr  avoid?" 

She  can  read  no  more;  she  closes  the  book,  replaces  it, 
foldsherartason  the  table,  and  lays  her  face  down  upon 
them  :  "For  God  would  hâve  thee  to  suffer  tribulation  with 
out  comfort,  and  become  more  humble  by  tribulation  '    Yes, 
yes.     Oh  I  yes,  she  has  been  proud,  and  self-wilied,  and  re- 
bellious,  and  her  punishment  has  fallen.     Her  pride  is  hum- 
bled  to  the  very  dust,  she  has  been  stabbed  to  the  heart  in 
the  hour  of  her  exultation.     She  has  lost  what  she  was  learn- 
ing  to  hold  so  dear  ;  she  is  despised  where  she  was  beginiiing 
to  seek  for  approbation,  scomed  where  she  mos^  wished  to 
be  highly  held.     She  does  not  blarae  Longworth-he  lias 
acted.hastilyandrashly;  ail  the  same,  she  could  not  hâve 
-xplamed  if  he  had  corne  in  calmest  modération  to  ask  that 
e»pranation.     How  strange  he  should  so  hâve  overheard     Is 
thcre  a  fate,  a  Nemesis,  in  thèse  things  ?    She  does  not  blâme 
luin  ;  she  only  feels  crushed,  stunned,  benumbed,  left  stranded 
J«  8ome  barrenxock,  the  land  <^îr.r.^^^^^^^UHfr^,^,né^ 


■  drearly  achmg  heart,  and  a  sensé  of  loss  and  lonelines* 
forever  wilh  her.     Six  days  bave  passed  «nce  that  M,oo„!isrK, 


\ 

1 

il- 

— 

1  .  ,•  *•■ 

\_^ 

WGffTFAU,.  ^^ 

She  ha.  „„.  o„„  .faed  „:,S'e  r,a  eTshT'''  """^ 
•«n  Darand  during  this  interval      sf  t         ^     °°'  °"" 

•^.•""PP™  *»  l.«  happened  alread^       """""^  ■'»™ 
one  UjÈs  still  for  a  lonjr  tim*»      ch^  u       , 

«P.c,ed  vfsiJ hJtl  "  «""""■"«•='.  "<•  '*  h„  h« 
M  over— count  it  over  1  "  '  ^*  '^°""» 

«^Hrr4r:-^---s-;%-"-.'.p.e...,. 

you  to  takeirturn  in  thë  rfëili  aTr     ^^  -/  ^°T  advâe 


< 


r^""\ 


U^^^ 


538  ir/GJrJ'FALL. 

*  Y«8,  fo^  '  her  grandmother  says,  coldly,  and  looking  u 
noyed  ;  "  the  beat  ofthis  rôom  makes  you  look  wretchedly 
Lock  the  cabinet  and  Jeave  the  key  on  vay  dressing-table.' 

**  Ay,  ay,  look  out  for  the  key,"  says  bluff  îAx.  Martin  , 
"  can  t  be  too  particular  about  nio;iey.  It's  a  sight  easicr  le 
1 3se  al ways  than  to  find.  Nobody  h JKn'J^ought  to  keep  mone^ 
in  the  house  anyhow."  ^ 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  danger,"  answera  Mrs.  Wind 
sor,  still  veiy  coldly  ;  "  burglars  are  almost  unknown  in  Bay- 
mouth,  and  I  keep  no  one  in  tny  house  whose  honesty  I 
cannot  implicitly  trust." 

Reine  leaves  the  room  and  goes  slowly  to  her  grand- 
inother's  bed-chamber.  The  cabinet  mentioned  is  a  frail, 
but  very  handsome  Japanese'  affair  of  ebony,  inlaid  with  pearl 
and  silver.  She  plaças  the  roU  of  notes  in  one  of  the  drawers, 
U>cks  it,  and  lays  the  key  as  directed,  on  the  dressing-table. 
As  she  descends  the  stairs  again,  she  encounters  Catherine 
with  a  letter. 

"  For  you.  Miss  Reine,"  the  woman  says,  and  hands  it  te 
her.  "  I^w,  miss,  how  white  you  do  look.  Quite  fainty-like, 
I  déclare.    Ain't  you  well  ?  " 

For  Reine,  not  Marie,  is  the  favorite  of  the  household  now. . 
rimt  has  told,  and  though  Miss  Landelle  is  as  lavish  oC 
«weet  smilcs  and  gentle  words  as  ever,  it  has  been  discovered 
that  she  is  selfish  and  exacdng,  and  not  at  ail  particular  as 
to  haw  much  or  how  little  trouble  she  may  give  thos**  who 
attend  her. 

'<She  can't  even  put  on  her  own  clothes,  she's  thathel|/- 
less,"  says  Catherine,  indignantly,  **  nor  so  much  aa  buttoo 
her  shoes  or  her  gloves  ;  but,  it'i  please,  Catherine,  hère,  and 
thanks,  Catherine,  there,  Catherine,  do  this,  and  Catherine, 
fctch  that,  and  Catherine,  go  for  'tother,  from  moming  tiU 
night.  JA^fdon'tmind,  blessyou,  how  often  she  rings  her  bel* 
anJ  brings  you  up  two  flights  to  ask  you  where^t  the  pins 
that  are  lying  on  the  table  before  her  eyes,  er  hovr  her  back 


■Wi 


Jn^ 


J  ' 


■   'i 


NKÏUTFALL. 


339 


8».  righ.  down.    Mus  Marie's  p  et,,  i  a  pie?   °    'h  "T 
tweet    I  Hon'f  ^^^         j  ^  ^'■'■■y '*^'*P*cture,  andsmiles 

r«!  R        V  '^^"^'^"^"«^^««ays  a  cross  Word;  butgivemf 
Vliss  Reine  for  mymoney.afteralL"  «g»vemf 

■   -^"î^r.eTl^t."'^"'  XOU.  Cherine,"  Reù„  .„^ 

Il  is  froni  Marie,  Ihe  te  she  hù  .cceiveA    She  <roc  <wt  ' 

hg  a  trial  trip  i„  the  fam^lïït   and^L  f         '""'"."'""  ""^  ""^ 
Shoals.  and  will  look  at  somecoast  ^r,  J     .  ""'  ^"^"^  ""^ 

"Yonrown  Marm.» 

•|Oh.  «^/j,>„ / ..  ,he  «ay»,  and  sits Ao^tng at  it,  a *aa 


\. 


H- 


S40 


NiGHTFALL. 


As  if  her  thou{^t  had  evokeâ  liiitt,  she  sees  thrcugh  tht 
^ees,  8tripped  â^4  wind-blown,  Bui'and  himself  approachir^ 
the  gâte  at  thé  mbment.  Can  he  be  coniing  in  ?  She  rises, 
and  run;  down  the  path,  and  meets  him  just  as  he  lays  hii 
hand  on  the  gâte. 

"  I  could  endute  it  no  longer,"  he  says  ;  "  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  brave  the  dragon,  ând  go  to  the  house  to  see  you. 
For  a  week  I  hâve  been  waiting  and  looking  for  you  in  vain  , 
Where  hâve  you  been? — what  is  the  matter?     You  look 
wretched,  Petite  ;  hâve  you  been  ill  ?  " 

She  does  not  answer.     She   stands  looking  at  him,  the 
closed  gâte  between,    her  face  grayish  pale  in  the  duU  even- 
<H»g  light,  blank  terror  looking  at  him  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  Is  it  ànything  about  Marie  ?  "  he  deniands,  quickly  ;  "  la 
■he  coming  back  ?  Hâve  you  heard  from  her  ?  is  that  a  let 
ter  ?     Lçî  me  see  it." 

He  reaches  over  and  takes  it  out  of  her  hand  before  she 
can  prevent  it. 

"  Léonce,"  she  exclaims  in  a  terrified  voice,  "  let  me  tell 
you  firjM!^  Do  not  read  the  letter.  Oh  !  Léonce,  do  not  be 
angry  with  her  !    Indeed,  indeed  she  means  no  harm." 

He  tums  from  her,  and  reads  the  letter  slowly,  finishe* 
and  reads  it  again.  The  afternoon  has  worn  to  evening,  and 
it  is  nearly  dark  now,  but  Reine  can  see  the  look  of  deadly 
pallor  she  knows  only  too  well  blanch  his  face,  sees  a  gleam 
dark  and  fierce,  and  well  remembered,  corne  into  his  eyes, 
But  his  manner  does  not  change  ;  he  tums  to  her  quietly, 
ar  d  hands  it  back. 

"  Allons  l  "  he  says,  "  so  she  has  gone.  Well,  I  am  not 
K  rprise<l  ;  I  half  expected  as  much  from  the  first.  If  she 
fiilds  the  Soirth  pleasant,  as  how  can  she  othenvîse  in  the 
•ociety  of  M.  Dexter,  it  is  probable  she  will  not  retum  foi 
the  winter.  She  likes  warmth  ;  Georgia  will  suit  Jer^mudi^ 
better  than  Daymouth  and  a  long  northern  winter." 


^ 


\ 


^w  1 


krcugh  thc 

)proachi:^ 

She  rises, 

he  lays  hii 

ade  up  my  ' 
:o  see  yon. 
3U  in  vain  , 
You  look 

t  him,  the 
duU  even- 

/es. 

ickly  ;  "  la 
that  a  let 

before  she 

let  me  tell 
,  do  not  be 
irm." 

y,  finishe» 
-ening,  and 
of  deadly 
es  a  gleam 
)  his  eyes, 
er  quietly, 

,  I  am  not 

;t.     If  she 

kvise  in  the 

return  foi 

1  er  muci» 


\ 


tflGHTPAJLL.  3^ 

1  Y**  *"  uT  '*^^"«  ''''^^  ^^^**^'"  ^«  »t«rupt8,  "and 

"Listen,  Léonce " 

"  No,  Petite  ;  let  us  talk  and  think  of  you  a  Uttle     Son» 
one  should  think  of  you,  for  you  never  ^L  a  ha^t  of  S 
•ng  of  yourself.     You  are  looking  ill.  and  I  fear  you  are  not 
happy^    I  thmk  too,  that  M.  Longworth  is  jealous  of  ™e 
and  that  my  présence  hère  may    be    the"  cause    of  yo« 
-^Piness.     It  shaU  be  the  cause  no  longer.    ,  go^Uv 

His  face  keeps  its  settled  pallor,  hi»  eyes  their  dark  and 
dangerous  gleam,  buthis  voice  is  low  and  quieter,  if  possible 
thM  usual.    She  stands  lookmg  at  him  in  mute  f;ar 

^  ^1  r^u'  T^^'  **"  "^^"^  *=°'"*^-  '  J^"°^  **t  M.  Long, 
worth  thmks  I  am  or  hâve  been  your  lover.  Undeceive  \^m. 
Petite  when  he  returns-tell  him  the  truth.  You  may  trusî 
him;  he  loves  you-in  a  cold  and  unsatisfactory  fashion.  it 
f^l^d  r  t"  ''^"«''-     ^^  ^"  '^eeptheslret,ne;e 

you,  httle  one.  lest  the  terrible  grandmamma  should  miss  you 
and  make  a  storm.     Whom  hâve  we  hère  ?  " 

Mr.  Martm  gomg  home.     ^-^ 

'«Yououghtto  hâve  a  shaH  miss,"  says  the  old  farmer; 

it  is  tuming  chiUy,  and  you'U  catch  cold.     Don't  forget  tô 
look  after  the  money.     I  hope  you  locked  it  up  ail  safe  ?  " 

«V^Tn°''V"'*!!^^-     A' '^'^  0P«"»  the  gâte  he  catche.     ' 
nght  of  Durand,  and  eyes  him  keenly. 

"Shol"   thought  the  Yankee  farmer.     «I  didn't  knoir  ' 
•he'd  got  her  beau,  orl'd  hâve  been  more  caieful  speakin 
ofAf  money.    Nobody  knows  who  to  trust  nowadayl" 
.=^^JW»i»ai»t?'^aakrBunuid.  — - 

who 


A  naa   who   bas   been    p^ring  gnmdmainnui   -^m 


,-\jx4.^ 


:,aïSi' 


Il   !: 


S4S 


MrGffTtfALL. 


M 


A  laige  raie  ?  * 


*  Fifteen  handred  doUan.** 

"  I  wish  I  had  it,"  Durand  says,  with  a  short  lan^.  *  I 
irent  to  Monaco  before  I  came  to  America,  and  won  enoogii 
to  keep  me  ever  since.  But  I  am  a  beggar  once  more,  and 
Monaco  is  inconveniently  far  off." 

"  I  can  lend  you,  Léonce,"  Reine  says  eagerly,  tâking 
out  her  pnrse.  "  Madame  Windsor  p:iïd  me  ray  quarterly— 
how  shall  I  call  it  ?— salary  alloMrance  yesterday.  I  do  not 
want  it--pray  take  it." 

♦«  Thanka,  Petite — ^it  is  like  you  ;  but  no,  I  wiU  not  take 
it  Keep  it  for  your  poor  ones.  The  terrible  grandmamma 
is  libéral  at  least,  is  she  ?  "  > 

**  Most  libéral  indeed,  if  money  were  ail." 

«*  I  woijder  she  likes  to  keep  such  large  sums  inthe  houie. 
It  is  rather  lonely  hère,  too." 

"  She  does  not  thinl:  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  large  som. 
She  generally  keeps  enough  for  the  current  q»perises  of 
each  month  in  her  room,  and  there  are  no  rol^bers  in  9»yr 

mouth."  ■   . .  K  v^*';;m\ 

Durand's  eyes  lift  and  fix  for  a  moment  on  Ihç  Jpm 
is  grandmamma's.     He  knows  it,  for  Reinç  onca^ôl^^  it 
out,  and  her  own,  and  Marie's.  '^Êt, 

"But  tell  me  of  yourself,"  she  says.  "Ohl  Léonce, «SS'" 
not  follow  Marie.  You  may  trust  her  indeed.  She  is  angry 
with  you,  but  she  cares  nothing  for  Frank  Dexter.  It  is  be- 
cause  she  is  angn^  that  she  goes.  You  know  Marie— she  >• 
not  easily  arouse^^^^  is  the  sweetêst  temper  ir.  ^o  world  ; 
bat  wA^n  aroused "  '"    /<  . 

«« Implacable— do  I  not  know  it?    Howam  t  to  follow 
her? — she  gives  no  address  and  I  hâve  no  money.     I  rouit 
go  to  New  York  and  join  my  people  ;  the  opéra  season  tp- 
^ooGhes.    Hâve  no  fears  (ot^vaei^/t^mout—tAc^xagSjâ^ 
foancU.    Tell  M.  LongwortA  ;  it  will  be  beat  *:-, 

**  I  cànnot.     I  hâve  pronrised  Mane." 


/ 


.^? 


triGBTPdLL, 


543 


Ungh.  M 
>n  enoagL 
more,  «di^ 

ly,  Uking 

uarterly— 

I  do  not 

1  not  take 
idmamma 


the  home. 

large  sura. 
penses  of 
rs  in  aiy- 

Jmat 


jéoncéi  ujoir 
le  is  angry 
Itisbe- 
rie — flhe  ii 
^e  world  ; 

i  ï6  foUow 
y.  I  mnst 
season  m^ 
ke  CjMpe^ot 


Break  your  promise— Ihink  of  yoirself ,  do  not  sacrifice 
your  life  to  her  3elfishness.    She  would  not  for  yéu,  believe 
me.    You  love  her  well.  but  love  her  wisely  ;  do  not  let  M 
Longworth  make  you  unhappy.  by  thinking  I  am  your  lover 

Petit**"   mavT.acl,    .,«..       *.  ^/^  .      S         .        _ 


'Oiir  brother?— ^o  yoa 
j^ngworth  ?" 

gloaming,  and  he 


What  a  heart  Of  ^Id 
•who  knows  when  and  hoir 


Petite;  may  I-  ask  you — au 
'ove  this  cold,  stem,  proud 

She  tums  her  face  frona 
•ees  a  ipasm  of  pain  cross 
"  Ah  I  I  see.     I  wonder  .i  . 

he  oas  won.    Petite,  I  am  goi..^ „„,  „..ç„  ^„ 

we  may  meet  again  ?  Say  you  Jorgive  me  before  I  go." 
"Forgivcyou,jnybrother?"  . 
"For  coming.  I  should  not  hâve  corne.  I  hâve  îjroughl 
you  nothing  but  trouble.  AU  the  amends  I  can  mal^e  is  fo 
go  and  retum  no  more.  Retum  I  never  wiU— that  I  sweat  I 
Petite  Reine,  adieu  I  " 

"Léonce  I  î#nc«r  she  cries,  in  an  agony  ;  ^« you  mean 
■omething.     Oh  4whât1#  it  ? '»  ^«      '      ,, 

"  I  mean  niithing,  dekr  Petite,  but  farewelL  *  Once  more 
adieu." . 

He  leana  forward,  and  saintes  her  in  his  famiUar  French 
feihion  on  both  cheeks.  Hère  eyes  are  full  of  tearau:  some. 
thmg  m  his  face,  in  his  eyes,  as  they  look  at  he«H  and 
terrifyher.  ^'^W 

-^Léonce  I"  she  says  again;  but  he  is  gone.     Once   he 
looks  back  to  wave  his  hand  and  smile  farewell.    She  stands 
•  and  watches  the  slight,  active  figpre  until  he  tums  the  corner 
ànd  IS  gone. 

The  darkness  has  fallen  ;  she  is  conscious,  for  the  fin» 
time,  how  bleakly  cold  it  is.  A  high  wind  sweeps  aïoqnd 
her,  a  few  Jrops  of  rain  faU  from  the  overcast  gky.  CfaSled 
inthe  wet  and  windy  darkneu,  ihe  tnmi,  with  »  ilimt,  aa^ 


# 


A.) 


,^.u 


;/ 


'0i 


*^ 


'■■à 


„    ('i> 


■:^- 


M 


144 


rWO  IN  IMB  MORNIJtfG. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

TWO  IN  TH|E   MORNINO. 

1RS.  WINDSOR'S  influenza  is  worse,  Reine  4k 
covers,  when  she  re-enters  the  parlor,  and  Mjn 
Windsor's  temper  suffers  in  proportion.  The  par 
oxysms  of  sneezing  are  incessant  now  ;  there  appears  to  be 
nothing  for  it  but  bed  betirnes,  a  mustard  foot-bath,  wanu 
gruel,  and  a  fresh  supply  of  htot  lemonade.  Ail  thèse  rem 
edies,  with  the  help  of  Jane  and  Catherine,  are  attainable. 
The  lady  is  helped  to  her  chamber,  is  placed  in  bed,  the 
night-light  turned  down  to  a  minute  point,  the  door  is  closed, 
and  she  is  left  to  repose.  - 

Reine  returns  below.  It  is  barely  eight  o'clock,  and  there 
b  a  long  evening  before  her.  How  shall  she  spend  it?  I( 
»he  were  in  the  mood  for  music,  music  is  ont  of  the  question, 
with  grandnianima  invalided  above.  There  are  books,  but 
she  reads  a  great  deal,  and  even  books  grow  wesrisome.  "  Of 
the  making  of  many  books  there  is  no  end,  and  much  learn- 
Ing  is  a  weariness  of  the  flesh/'  Everything  is  a  weaiinéSs  ; 
there  are  good  things  in  the  world,  but  they  do  not  last-  - 
nothing  lasts  but  the  disai^intments,  the  sin,  the  suffering, 
*he  heart-break.     They  go  on  forever.  *' 

ShaH  she  go  and  see  Miss  Hariott  I  Catherine  nas  just 
inforined  her  that  Candace  bas  inforined  her  that  Miiu 
Hariott  has  flturned.  She  has  niissed  her  friend  unutteiably, 
her  strong  cominon  sensé,  her  quick,  ever-ready  sympathj) 
for  ail  trouUK,  grea^  and  little.  Her  troubles  are  not  little, 
Riine  thinks^  they  are  very  great  and  real,  and  even  MJM 
Hariott  is  powerle^o  hclp  her.  Still,  it  will  be  somethinj 
only  Ujir^ock  "xto  her  bi«ve,  frank  eyet,  to  feel  thenstroni^ 


j 


Of 


rtro  /AT  THE  MORNINC.  345 

cordial  clasp  of  her  hand.  to  hear  her  cheerful,  co.y  .ossiu 
to  slt  tn  that  cumfortable  ingle  nook  which  Wwofth  tli 

2^J  A    c    ^  "•«''*-»>'»<=k,  pouring.  windy.     But  she  i, 

Tne      n  t  '  '"''  '°"^'  "^^^'^"'  ^"^  ^he  long  hours  herc 
^one  will  be  s.mp.y  intolérable.     Yes,  shc  will  go      She 
s  her.  waterp^of  and  rubber,  pulls  the  hood  ov;r  he 

tance  islri  !     ,"''  '"^  "'"^^^  ^^^''"«««-     The  Z 

rsk\    ,'t;:"f  •  .«h'^^kno.s  the  road  well;  ten  «minutes 

Yes  M^«  w  "^    "  '°  ''^^  "°"^Se.  and  does. 

^!rh»,r*-r  ^  '"'°  '*'"  ^'"^'^'  ^«^    «treet.      Rein. 

nngs  half  sm.hngio.think  how  surprised  her  friend  wiU  ^ 
•nd  Candace  admits  her  °* 

fro'ûfthr  hilf  "  '  "•'''"'''^*^  '^«^"^  '  ^"'  ^-  -stress'  voice 
from  the  half-open  sittmg-room  door.  breaks  in  : 

fetch  me  my  letters  instantly."  * 

oace,     its  Miss  Reine,  corne  to  sèe  you  throu^h  ail  tl. 
pounn'  ram.     Ix,r'.  chile,  how  wet  you  is  !  »  * 

Instantly  Miss  Hariott  is  in  the  hall,  indignant  remon 
tnjnce  m  face  and  tone.  struggling  .ith  ^atifiS  affectioT 

.old,  but  r  am  dehghted  te  see  you  just  the  sanie      T»t 
.hese  wet  things,  Candace.  and  fetch  In  a  nice  hÔt  cup  oJtel 
jnd  so^e  of  those  cakes  that  s.el.  so  g.od  ba^^I        ^ 
Con'.e  m,  you  mennaid.  you  Undine,  and  tell  me  what  drov. 


knows  nothing  about  it."  *  """^^  *^ 

"VouVe^a  «,lf-willed  Lttie  .ninx,  and  'ik.  to  h.ve  you 


%4fi 


rm>  ry  ths  MORmm^. 


i:  i 


!•>> 


'il; 


own  wicked  way.  Sit  down  hère  and  put  yonr  feet  o  thr 
are.  This  is,  Larry's  chair,  but  you  may  haye  it  ;  it  ia  ail  om 
now.  He  is  away,  Marie  is  away,  grandmaniina  is  in  bed, 
and  ail  the  cats  being  out  of  sight,  this  niisbehaved  moust 
does  as  she  likes  with  impunity.  Now,  child,  'x  iees  nir 
good  to  sit  and  look  at  you.  What  a  little  dear  you  are  to 
oome  and  see  me  so  soon.     Hâve  you  really  niissed  me  ?  " 

*'More  than  I  can  say,  madame.  It  has  been  the  longest 
and  loneliest  week  I  ever  spent  in  my  life."  , 

**  Well,  that  is  natural  enough.  Your  sister  is  gone,  and 
you  are  wonderfully  fond  of  that  pretty  sister  ;  Longworth  is 
gone,  and  you  are  wonderfully — no,  \  won't  say  it  Haa 
anybody  else  gone  ?  "  ' 

**  Somebody  is  going,"  Reine  says,  drearily  ;  "  he  came  to 
lay  good-by,  poor  fellow,  just  at  nightfall." 

"  You  mean  that  handsome  little  Monsieur  Durand.  Well 
— I  ought  to  be  sorry  because  you  are  sorry;  but  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  am  not." 

"You  don't  like  Léonce — poor  Léonce  I  And  yet  I  do 
not  see  why.  He  has  his  faults,  many  and  great,  but  he  is 
K>  gentle,  so  tender-hearted,  so  really  good  in  spite  of  alL 
And  you  know  nothing  of  him — why  should  you  dislike  lum, 
MissHariott?" 

"  I  do  not  dislike  him.  I  do  not  like  him.  I  do  not  trust 
him.     You  love  him,  little  Queen,  very  dearly." 

"  I^ove  Léonce  !  "she  repeats  dreamily.  "  Yes  ;  I  cta 
rrcall  no  time  when  I  did  not  love  Léonce.  I  was  such  a 
little  créature  when  I  went  to  Rouen — mamma  was  alwayi 
ailing,  and  she  said  I  tormented  her,  at)d  Aunt  Denise,  so 
f?ntle  and  so  good  to  every  one,  took  me  home.  Léonce 
was  a  little  fçllow  then,  such  a  pretty  boy,  so  gay,  so  loving 
■o  good  to  me.  We  grew  up  together  there,  in  the  dear  old 
Jtottse,  we  went  wanderiug  together  through  îhe  dear  oM= 
town,  we  exi:Iored  ail  the  beaut'ul  churches,  and  life  WM 
Uke  one  long,  tunoy  tummer  day.    There  never  wat  VKi  ow 


s  ^S^F-g 


TWC  /A    THE  HiORmifG.  34y 

■ftWnd  to  Léonce  in  those  days,  or  so  hanov  ..  t      -    ^, 

thonght  1  had  lost  my  brother  forever      I  «««7  Jî      ? 
•o  cc^.  and  d^eeWess.  and  dar..  ancTble^^^^J^t?::; 
»y    Normandy-my    dear,  dear    Nôrmandy  IhaT  I    ^V, 
neversee  again  !    And  th«   Leone,   was  taken  ni 
by  those  vile  Prussiana.      h«„  was  taken  pnsontr 

«ad  L-  *^™»«a»»»-^  pow  we  wept  that  day,  Mari, 

•ndinterested;  the  girl  has  «cv^r  spoken  like  thisofï. 
old  home  or  friands  before  •  but  sh-wi,  n«.  T  ^^ 

the  tears  of  the  elder  Mlfe  'Landdl^  '"'"''  *°  ^"''^^ 

^Do  you  think  Marie  did  not  know  and  care  for  him  ?" 

you  think  she  has  no  heart  ?  "  ''      ' 

"Well,"  Miss   Hariott   responds,  -  anatomicalîy  consid- 
^nTh  1!  ^^*'^^^^«'-"<î  -  ail  hâve  lachrymal  g  a„ds 
bat  ,n  the  hght  of  a  damsel  in  distress,  J  .eally  7annot  pictu^e 
'Z^^.lî;^ ''-''''  ^''-     --<^on..ReinVb:: 

"  Last  of  ail.  worst  of  alV  goes  on  Reine.  C„a  died 
my  dear.  bandsome.  noble  father^so.  parient  so' tendt  ~ 
Marie  Th  •  "'"'  --'^'"g^n'^ver  complaining.  a^dTc^^^ 
Mane  and  me  so  well.  Then  we  came  hère  and  of  «Hk* 
«rrowfur  things  of  my  life  I  am  ailfpJe  for  LT"  ^  '"^ 
Dear  child— sorriest  ?  " ,  ^ 

ti.tlf^'T;'*'"^'  '^"^  ^'^  *^"  ''""*  '    O»"  if  Marie  had  bul 
toened  to  nre  and  stayed  in  London  I     We  knew  Zol 

*«e.  w,  couKl  hâve  got  pupil,  we  could  hâve  woTkeTa^rf 

neWed.     If  I  only  had  been  firm  and  refused  tg  corne  I  " 
"IU«c,thui.wicked,thi.isHhit.f^^"j.  i;:^ 


:r'' 


4        ••  '"^    .  -  ■ 


TWO  IN   THE  MORNlIfn 


\ 


tt  M  what  I  never  expected  to  heai  from  >ou.     At  fiiiti  1 

Ifant  you,  when  ail  were  strangers " 

"And  what  are  they  now?      What  friend  bave   I  bol 

"You  hâve  your  g^andraotl^r,  who  is  good  to  you  aftet 
her  fashion.    You  hâve  a  safe  slnd  secure  home "    ^ 

"  I  havè  a  house  to  live  in.  But  a  home  I— àh  1  foui  iralli 
«re  not  enougH  for  that.     Our  heart  makes  our  home." 

"And,"  pursues  the  elder  lady,  i'you  hâve  the  man  you 
are  going  to  mazry •• 

But  ^ne  lifts  her  hand  and  stops  her.  The  warmth 
i^ich  the  fire-light  and  Candace's  tea  bave  brought  into  hei 
fiwe,  dies  slowly  out.  '  "  a 

M  S^y  no  more,"  she  interposes.  '*  Yes,  I  am  unkind  and 
ungrateful.  But  when  I  think  of  the  past,  and  the  old  home 
lost  foreyer,  of  my  beloved  France,  which  I  will  never  see 
a|ain.  k  forget  to  be  grateful.  Heaven  is  good,  but  life  is 
t6  long— so  long,  and  things  happen  that  are  so  hard^o  bear. 
I  try  not  to  think,  I  try  not  to  go  back  to  the  lif^Hhat^is 
gone,  but  sometimes  I  sit,  and  this  dull  town  and  thèse  quiet 
«treets  fade  away,  and  I  am  in  the  old  gardën  on  the  hill  just 
above  Rouen,  and  the  grapes  and  apricots  shine  on  the 
white,  sunny  wall,  and  old  Jeannethon  is  gathering  vege- 
tables  in  the  kitchen  garden,  and  Aunt  Denise  is  knitting 
in  the  porch,  and  Léonce  comes  up,  singing  as  hc  cornes, 
and  then— I  wake  with  a  start,  and  it  is  in  Baymouth,  not 
Rouen,  Massachusetts,  not  Normandy,  Madame  Windior, 
not  Aunt  Denise,  and  Léonce — oh  !  yes,  Léonce  is  hère,  bu; 
not  the  Léonce  of  those  days.  Nine  I  "  She  rises  abruptl?. 
How  long  I  hâve  stayed,  and  how  much  I  hâve  talked  I  Did 
I  ever  talk  so  much  before  !" 

"  Never  !     Little  Qiieen,"  Miss  Hariott  answers.     "  Deai 

L|ttl<f    Quet^n.  VOU  are    not    lnolcîn<r  vte\\        Von  «ra  n^i* 

Ain  as  a  shadow.     What  is  the  trouble  ?  " 

"Nolhing  you  can  help — nothing  I  do  rot  de«erv«.    ] 


\ 


^t^. 


vkst^Èi^\^ 


varmth 
ato  hei   ^ 


f  >. 


TWO  IN  THE  MORVING. 


349 


oace  «ther.     I  can  go  very  well  alone." 

clf  t^'^A*  '  ^"!.^r^«  ^"ï  accompany  you  for  ail  thât 

I  could  he  p  you.  I  wish  I  couH  make  you  happy  ^  I  1 
,our  fauy  godmother,  you  Icnow,  and^lhe  Iitrprin.e^ 
iJ^raysgoesforhelptoherilforraw^." 

Yoa  W  helped  me     Only  to  co.ne  hère  and  tklk  r^onsenl 
.  «  I  hâve  donc  for  the  past  hour  is  a  help." 
"  And  you  will  return  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  When  is  M.  Durand  coraing  back  ?  " 
"Neverl" 

«  Indeed  ?    When  does  Laurence  Longworth  return  ?  • 
"  I  do  not  know."  »  •**"  «^ 

;;  You  do  not  know  I     Does  he  not  write  t  J  you  then  ?  " 
"No-wHy  should  he?    Do  not  let  us  talk  of  hùn,  please 

Bu    M     'Z:'^''T  '"^'^^  "P— "ding  Candlœ" 
But  M.SS   Hânott   does  insist,  and   Candace  holds  the 
umbrella  and  goes  through  the  rain  to  the  Stone  Houre  ^^ 
Black  and  rayless  buried  in,^«ereal  trees,  it  stands  like^me^ 
gobm  castle,  so  dark  ^  confest  to  the  little  white  cot^e^ 
rt.at^cven  Candace  regard,  it  with  jyes  of  distrust  andls! 

ult"""'«'^*y  ?""  P'*«  for  a  youn^y  Hke  you, 
René     saysshej.. and  Mis? Windsor  must  be  a  h^» 

Z':^.:-^yT'"    V^^'^^-^^'-gedt.Miss  S 
^^I  wish  I  did,  Candace.   Thank  you  for  coming.  and  good 


^àQdacè  départs. 


*    .* 


\> 


-atherine  answers  the  knock,  talcea  het 
^•.  »  ^j  .*  --i  uuier^garments  to  the  kitchen,  and  R  " 
Ipeluig  opprcsed  and  wretched,  goe.  upstairs  to  hcr 


U« ,K.-.l^«iÈàiA>  ! 


1% 

i!   ^ 


^'m^ 


rootp.     Howi  silent  the  pld  Ki(ii||yie  is,  * 
ling  pld  hou  se  for  four  woiÉiéîï 'to  occujgr. 
andmother's.j^door  noisefes$ly  ;  jthe  night 
istarï^N^  m  bedsi 
ihuts  th'ç!^or,  and 

pppositë,^\She  can  TiearVaîti  bea^*^^ 

^  wi^  aiakiW  a  duU,  ceaseless  surge 

;,î|aft1iP8f  olVmipgling,  vith  both,  the 

'|roice  of  the  océan.     Whatfawild 

woAdf |«,  with  a  shiver  ôf  appreheni^n  if 

IJ;  tpWîné:  about  iri  the  frail  yacht  aloiïg  the  rocïébund 

coas*  Jf  Maîmsi     How  miserably  ill  shewill  be,  and%aiic 

***ÎW  *^^^^^'  *"^  P^^"'  ^"^  annoyance  of  âny  kind|ind 

*'"™^  ^°°^  the  yèry  shadow  of  life's  lightest  trouble.       ', 

,    ^       „   "If  ||:ould  only  hélp  her,'"  Reine  think§,  "  I  wbuld  tiîÉe 

k'''v.;  ^.^'■^^^^'*  ^""^  "^y  o^'"  <^oo-     But  I  cannot.     J  may  suffer 
'^^-■f®J  her,  but  she  must  suffer  for  herself  as  well.     Oh  T îf    ' 
Léonce  follows  her  !  and  in  h^is  face  this  evening  I  saw  the" 
ijforeshadowing  of  SQme  desperate  résolve!"    She  will  never  •'. 
-'  'yield— she  is  inexqrable  as  fkte,  and  he  is  passionate,  and 
■    jealous,  And  reckless.     The  truth  will  conie  out,  and  ail 
,  .\  she  desires  niost  on  earth  will  be  lost  forever.     And  theçt. 
— what  then?"  ,  '      '  '  », 

^  ^   She  sit's  doM'n,  her  head  resting  vvçarily  against  the  back,*  " 
;,W  thé  chair,  silent  and  motionless,,for  a  lolig  tinie.     Her 
•  ^licad  aches— or  is  it  only  her  heart  ?     A  sensc  of  foreboding 
-  lills  her  ;  but,  stranger  than  ail,  a  sensé  of  fatigue  weighs  her 
r      down.     She  rises  presently,  as  the  loud-voiced  clock  inutile 
hall  strikes  ten,  and  jslowly  and  wearily  prépares  for  "*  " 
,  Perhaps  that  whispered  prayer  for  streng^h,  for  the 
"/a  volonté  suprême ^LJ)icu  notre  pire  ! 
but  it  is  he»rtfelt,  ^VWie  goes  to  bed. 
-1.  ^H'^Y  a.n<J,  f^ll  al m^mnediately^  and.she  4& h 
fore  her  head  is  well  on  the  pHlow.     Once  she  st 


''  is  fait 
Her 


"g*'ff'  sotne  noise,  but  jt  is  only  Jane  and  Calhart 


V. 


W  ':  , 

■ 
■ 

■t 

• 

1 

3f 

n 

^H^l^v 

\ 

^^^ 

- 

^v,,. 


'■»  '""l 

ss  surge 
oth,  the 

isbn  if 
lc#)and 


1  ^i. 


ids 


Vv 


^  V.  .    ^^<^  ^^"^    THE  MVRmKG.  '351 

'        up  tQ  their  bedrooms  on  the  floor  alu.v^      ti       "■     c 

s.ni;.css fans  .„u  ,.,„» u »„r4l:/d.  rX"""' 

S,:;X':  zz^'^'^z  ''"Tf-^  '-^  »"-'' 

>hear  nothing  else      ^h.  i?  !  '"°"'^°'  '^«  ^^.i 

tdwild;  l^tt-ot^^tn:::'  w^ts.her  eyesdjlateo 
•rhe  veryrainhas  ceased  .n^  »^profoundIy  stilL 

|n.o,i.„evelvée  s„>per,  opfn, '.ha  a  J>. ,  orlt:  ^ 

00k    across  m  terror  a,  ,ha.  opposile  door.     The„  ^^  Z 

>oes  ,„,,ard,  u;  i,  is  dosed  as  .he  has  left  it;   ,he  d.U  Ikh, 

sh.i.es  Ihrough  keyhole  and  crpvjce  and Cr^,  h     ^ 

whatisihnrt    Wh    •■  «?îT  ^reat  Heaven ,' 

so^nd  of  steal^y  footsteps  ;    there'is  another  sound     Z 

«no»s  ,1  j  l_robbers  are  ae  work  j>ehind  Aat  closed  door 
™rd.r„,„^aybc;  and  ,ha,  sbrik^fta,  „„e  ^Td  J^^     ' 


WUicr,  f»tc.     There  ,s  i  table  du3e  to  whfc.e  she  4ul. 


af 


^•••.  è 


.Sttv 


352 


TWO  IN    THE  MORNllfG. 


!i      f 


1^1   • 


/■^ 


she  HoM$  to  it  with  both  hands  to  kcop  from  falling.  IIm 
floor  seems  to  heave  beneath  her  feet,  and  withoât  sound  ai 
Word  she  ^sinks  upon  it,  and  half  lies,  half  crouches,  in  a 
heap.  One  or  two  broad  rays  of  noonlight  gleam  fitfully  into 
the  dark  hall,  but  where  she  has  fallen  is  in  deepest  gloom 
So  crouching,  she  strains  every  nervc  to  listen.  She  feels  no 
■ense  of  faintness  ;  every  faculty  seems  preternaturàlly  shar- 
pened  The  grating  key  has  evidently  not  fitted  ;  she  hears  th  s 
■tiarp,  metallic  sound  of  steel  instruments  .at  work.  Tick^  tick, 
click,  she  <^n  hear,  too,  from  the  clock  downstaiis — how  weird- 
IjThjud  is  the  beating  of  its  brazen  puise  ;  it  seems  to  drown 
even  the  horrid  click  of  those  tools  that  are  forcing  the  locki. 
Then  there  is  ah  interval — an  hour  it  seems — one  minute, 
.  perhiaps,  in  reality,  and  then — oh  Heaven  1  tne  dpçr  slowly 
and  softly  opens,  a  white  hand  stretches  forth,  and  so  holds 
it  one  listening  second.  Her  dilating  eyes  are  fixed  on  that 
hand  ;  sureiy  the  gleani  of  thç;,  large,  flashing  ring  it  wears  u  ^ 
fkniiliar  to  her.  Astealthy  step  follows,  then  the  thief  stmds 
on  the  thresjiold  and  casts  one  quick  glance  up  and  dowi^he 
hall.  She  crouches  not  three  feet  from  where  he  stands,  but 
he  only  looks  before  him,  and  sees  n(^hing.  She  sees  him, 
howçvçr  ;  the  pallid  gleam  of  the  niéonlight  falls  full  on  hi? 
facje.  He  crosses  tne  hall  rapidly  and  noiselessly,  turns  down 
the  stairs  and -disappears. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  _five,  six  ;  lying  there  in  the  chill  gal- 
lery,  Reine  counts  the  sonorous  ticking  of  the  noisy  Dutch 
clock  ;  qr  perhaps  it  is  not  the  clock  so  much  as  the  sickçn- 
ing  heavy  throbs  of  hçr  own  heàrt.  She  counts  on  and  on  ; 
it  seems  to  her  as  if  it  must  continue  forever,  as  if  she  mu^ 
sit  huddled  hère  in  the  darkness  and  cold,  and  thç  rainutei 
xi  this  ghastly  night  go  on  eternally.  Hours  sçfim  to  pau,  ^ 
and  then,  ail  at  once,  with  a  mighty,  rushing  sound,  the  dock 
4ttrik<»  threfc  -  — 


\ 


She   springs  .tq  her  feet,  the  spell  is  broken,  and  almoM 
'•cre«iiM  aloud,  lo  jarring,  so  discordant  secro  the  stroke»  tv 


-■{Ti""? 


ing.  I^ 
Sound  M 
:hes,  in  a 
îtfuUjT  into 
:st  glooiD 
le  feels  no 
rally  shar- 
:  hearsths 
Pick^  tick, 
low  weird- 
to  drown 
the  locki. 
e  minute, 
tçT  slowly 
]  se  holds 
d  on  that 
It  wears  u  ^ 
lief  st^d* 
dowi^hc 
tands,  but 
sees  hiin, 
uU  on  hi? 
jrns  dowi)    , 

i  chill  gal- 
sy  Dutch 
le  sickén- 
I  and  on  ; 
she  mupt 
?  minutea 
n  to  pasa,  ^ 
the  dock 


\ 


itroket  t» 


to  her  head  in  a  daled  sorHftlv  Son,  !h'"'''"''"^ 
done,  and  at  once,  but  what  caa  shfdo  ?  Sh  î"^'""'*  ^' 
fui  ten-or  at  the  half-opcn  door  of  h.  .      '°°'''  '"  *^ 

^If  she  goes  in  there  whai liuTL  ChT'^''  "*"" 
•ome  fearful  sight  on  the  bed  yonder  anTh  \ T '"*  °" 
with  the  horror  of  it  forever  ?  She  1^^  f  ''"''^'"  ^""'^ 
.lowly  ..th  wide.starin;:;:s  n^ot  wi°^  ^j"" 
way  she  1  ngers.     Th».  NVi,»  ;   k      •    ^^^"*    'n  the  door 

pet,  the  drawers  rf T  r        '  '°^'  ^"^^  '«  «■>  the  car-  • 

««  ta  ^r^:^  it-Th^ ',"1  "^"^  '""■^«  *• 

ter.     M„.  WinZ  lies  .h^K  T"  '«■"  "^  '"'^■"  "■«" 

-?e'C-'i-^.rehr.r/r^^^^^^^^ 

money  «Ue.  bu.  „„  ^^i„  j„  ^^^^^  '^^   ^^ 
tMng  to  bch^s^       "'  "'"""«  "'°"'^"-     "^  -  "rio„, 

»  'if. 


y-. 


AltOTaRR 


0  put  the  sponge  and  scaltSê^  keys  in  lei 'l^>ckel:  In  • 
f  very  few  minutes  the  atmosphère  is  agafn  sndurable,  aifd  th« 
pression  that  seems  to  overpower  Mrs.'Windsor's  slumba 
gone.  There  is  x\,o  need  to  linger  Ibnger.  SBc  closes  (Ke 
indow,  raoves  the  sleeper  géntly  ihto  an  easier  position  ; 
en  she  leaves  the  chamber,  shuts  the  door,  andgoes  back 
to  her  own. 

She  ^s  not  retùm  to  bed  ;  she  sinks  downon  hcr  knees' 

bjr  the^edside,  agony  in  the  uptumed  face,  Wony  beyond  ail 

telling  in  the  desolate  heart  .She  has  but  one  cry,  and  it 

ucendk,  strong  enough  in  \\k  dnguish  to  pierce  heaven  : 

^  Hâve  mercy  on  hitn  I    Oh,  God,  hâve  mercy  on 


\ 


#* 


■''#f 


% 


-^jr» 


R.  D 


CH^ER  XXVI.  '^ 

ANOTIfKR    DAY.      -'''i- 

;\Vt!^TH  retÉurns  to.Bàymouth  very  early 
ia  the  afternoon  of  the  day  '^Uowinç  that  storniy 
Octohffl^ghL  The  storm  ha^not  inh"-fered 
with  his  jouriv^f^i^  has  slept  a^ightïn  a  ^acccar,  îuUed 
by  the  rQcking  motion  and  the  bt^in^'of  the  ra\0if$On  t^ 
glas«.  Hc  hasteAs  to  his  boar(^||i|proâ$e  at  ouce,  finjs.^m- 
self  in  tiijc  for  htncheo^^id  also  for  the  dish  of  goàsip 
daily  sei\r;d  up  with  that%flHayjefection.. 
■  ril**  Miw.  Àlarië  Lgjîdelleg§  awî^  with  the  Dexters,  mothei 
>^aod  so'i— has  spent  a  wéék  with  them  in  Bostbn,  and  i^ 
cruisin^  about  now  upon  the  high  seas  in  her  namésake,  the 
Mariée  A  pleasant  night  they  must  hâve  had  of  it,  toi  ;  il 
iB  to  be  hoped  Atr.  Frank  has  secured  a  competçnt  skipper. 


and  piiot^  and^rew.     ■tfo'Tclfcmr niay  Ire^iocked npoiras^P' 
lied.     Lucky  youqg  dog,  Mr.  Frank,  prospective  posseisot 
of  a  prJQcely  fortùhe  and  a  peerlcss  wit'e."    Ibiî  says  Mi 


Lf   , 


"'] 


d:  In  a 
:,  aitd  th« 
s  «lumbei 
closes  tfie 
position  ; 
l^oesback 

lier  kneea 
>eyoiid  ail 
:iy,  andit     \ 
,ven; 


i^0THt,1t  day: 


353 


m 


vcry  carly 
at  storniy 
inf^'-fered 
car,  iuUed 

of  gomf 

-s,  niothei 
iQ,  and  ii 
âsake,  thc 
it,  t0(  ;  il 
it  skipper. 


«* 


^^ 


^ 


posseisoi 
says  Mr 

^        m- 


Beckwitn,  going  iniô  the  edibles  wiih  tlie  ene  ..    r 
JuUonaUy  hungry  «an.      Miss   Ha  ib"  h^  ^'   '    *  ?T,^ 

Mons.Uonce  Durand    afp^k/dLTw'^     '^^'f'' 

Mr.  Longworth  liste„s  to  t  .  M  "'  °'  '^""-  ^"  ^^is 
Darand/going  is  nX-n!  k°  '  ""^^""'^^'hetic  silence, 
thèse  Peop^ele Vdte\  L^aIZ  "Tr''^^ 

Jlf  „"°^*f>^^^  d"Pe  she  hasfound  hU„_be  callimr 

inurderessi— a  litde  bliie-^v«H    .  r.  r       .  "  '"*"  • 

And  this  is  ho.  he  hL  T.     t  rvo7  S  etas','"/;,^^^". 
and  laughed  at  hi.,  and  Wfirst  to'ast  wi  d"^^^^^^^^ 
She  has  looked  up  with  those  truthfui  .ZZ  Zl     J  7'^"' 
In  the  fifst  hours  of  his  passion  hlJ    m       .'"'"' '^^• 

learncd  h,s  lesson.  ând  leamed  it  weuZ  ^ll\u    l    .^ 
worsï  of  ail  women  for  the  sake  of  thîlr  '      r  '"''  ^*"^ 

.nger  fillshim  ;  he  would  not  W^-  fi  •      "'"^'"'  ^'^^"' 

.ave  he,  ,_  death°"'^°y.î^;.^^^^^^^^^ 
duldren  to  perish  in  the  G^ngo,  hg  yç  l^'^î^l   '  ^^"^' 
TB^ir  sîde  of  the  question  aS    If  «  1  'T'^*''"!  ^^  «»/  «« 
plus  feniale  children  bomimo  S^t       m       ^°"'""^  °^'**^  "^ 
6      u  suiiee,  mankind  and  morality  would  pr  fit 


1*, 


3  $6  ANO^hER   DAY. 

j. 

The  editiii  sf  the  Phénix  goeb  to  business  it.  i  teifipa 
eniinently  suited  to  tackle  his  ciiemy  of  tlic  i/trald,  and  rout 
him  with  immense  slaughter.  Mr.  O' Sullivan  '  laoks  ap 
from  work  to  greet  his  chicf  with  the  office  news  of  the  l&el 
few  days.     He  also  adds  an  item — not  office  news. 

"  Here's  a  quetr  caper  of  Durand'i,"  he  says.  '  "  Mi^y  I 
never,  if  he  hasn't  eloped  !  " 

"Eloped?" 

"With  himself,  faith,"  says  O^Sullivan,  jvith  a  grin. 
"  Peters  was  at  the  station  this  morning  at  six — he  expected 
a  parcel  from  the  conductor  ;  and  who  does  he  see  jumping 
aboard  but  our  friend  Robert'  the  Deyil.  He  was  out  ail 
night — gainbling,  you  may'  take  your  oath — faith,  it's  one  of 
the  honorable  profession  of  blacklegs^he  is,  or  l'm  mistaken 
in  him.  That's  the  end  of  the  captivàting  Léonce,  and  it**! 
many's  the  dry  eye  he  leaves  behind  him  !" 

Longworth    passes   on,    seats  himself    at   his    desk,  and 
peruses  with  lowering  browyesterday'sscatherinthe^ra///. 
Then  he  draws  à  sheçT  of  papcr  before  him,  dips  iiis  pen 
viciously  in  the  inkstand,  and  is  fairly  immersed  in  his  con-  • 
génial  task,  when  a  tap  at  the  door  interrupts  him. 

"  Oh  I  corne  in  and  be  hanged  to  you  I  " 

"Sure  it's  not  me,  chief,"  says  the  deprecating  tones  of 
his  second  ;  "  it's  one  of  Mrs.  Windsor's  women.  5he's  ^e- 
low,  and  she  wants  ye."  . 

"  What  does  she  want  ?     Send  her  hère." 

Catherine  enters,  her  face  pale,  her  manner  flurried,  hci 
eyes  excited. 

"  Oh  1  Mr.  Longworth,  please,  sir,-such  a  dreadful  thing  ! 
Misses  is  almost  murdered,  and  we  don't  none  of  us  knon 
what  to  do.  Miss  Reine  don't  seem  like  herself,  and  the 
sent  aie  hère. 

"  Miss  Reine  sent  you  hejre  ?  ^' 


t^i 


"  No,  "^ir,  Mrs.  Windsor.     Robbers  brolié  in  iast  night,  and 
t£dk  away  aÛ  her  money,  hun  Ireds  and  hundrcds  of  dollari^ 


ANOTHER  Da  V. 


Mi^y  I 


r.i 


35; 


i'he  doc- 


-ad  g«ve  her  chlorofonn,  and  nearly  killcd  -.-r  I 
.  -  for»*  there,  and  he  says  her  nerves  are  drej^ful       She'  Knt 
.       «.e  hère  for  >  o»  at  once.     And  please  do^me.  sir.  L  ^ 
.bn't  none  of  us  kn^w  .what  to  do  "  ^ 

Vlrt'E-!'  '"'"•"  '"  :""^'  '^"^'^^"-  ««  '^^  °ft<^«  --ned 
n  oney  m  the  house,.  but  Baymouth  is  honestly  dlspo^ed.  bui- 
t^A  ?  T^r^'''-  ^^'  ^ot  heeded.  That  shVha^be^ 
robbedat  last  does  not  greatly  astonish  hi.„-it  h^  odU 
»)ccn  a  question  of  time.  * 

Mrs.  Wndsor  so.     But  I  an,  afraid  there  is  aothing  I  ^ 

Still  he  knows,with  the  usual  inconséquence  of  women 
hisvery  présence  will  be  a  relief  and  réassurance.     Rob^ed  1 
wbo  can  be  the  robber  ?    Some  one  who  kno^s  her  habi 
and  knows  the  house  ;  no  étranger  has  done  the  deed! 
r^m  Te      *'\''°"^r"^  '■«  -«"ducted  to  Mrs.  Windsor»,  ' 

v^d  is  afone   The  r°      '  ""'T  '"  ^"^"'^"^^*'  ^"'  '^^  - 
vaiid  ,s  a  one.^    She  hes  among  her  pillows  as  white  as  thev 

"  My  dcar  Mrs.  Windsor."  Longworth  says,  taking  a  seal 
by  the  beds.de,  and  the  hand  she  gives  hL    "I  aui  ver 
-rry  for  this.     You.  are  looking  dreadfully  ;  why.  you  are"^ 
a  fevei  !    Hov  has  ail  this  l^E^ened ?" 

"  I^aurence  '  "  Mrs  UZi'n/i^i^r^      •    •  ^ 

.t.-ff    •  r  ;  VW#«^  Ws  in  a  tense  tone,  her  evei 

ghttering.  "  I  know  the  tMn  j  «K  ^ 

,  '•  Il  was  the  Frenchman,  Durand  I  " 

man  n  7  «^^"'î^'Fghter-s  relation.  ,  It  was  the  French 
man  Durand/  Andl  believe  Reine  Landelle  lold  hJcÏ 
th.  rooney,an4  adnutted  hiin  hère  last  night  1" 


.>"• 


♦  J$« 


4N0THER   m  Y. 


J\ 


But  Longworth  only  sits  pe'.'ectiy  duir.b  n\i\\  .lie  shock  pt 
this  announcenient,  staring  at  her.  . 

"  I  saw  his  face  as  plainly  as  I  see  yours  now,"  she  goes  ot 
excitedly.     "  I  was  asleep,  I  suppose,  when  he  entered  ;  bul 
^  ïorae  sligbt  noise  he  mad^  awoke  me.     A  man  was  fittii  g  a 
key  in  th^t  cabinet  yonder  behind  you.    I  started  np  in  bed 
and  saeanied  eut  Like  a  flash  he  turned  and  I  saw^is  fa  ré 
Befoie  I  could  cry  eut  again  he  had  put  his  hand  over  luj 
mouth/ and  held  a  spong«î'saturated  with  chloroform  undci 
my  nostrils.     I  remember  no  more.     This  morning  I  wckï 
'   frôm  my  drugged  sleep  to  find  the  room  in  perfect  dfder,  the 
cabinet  as  usuâl,  the  nioney  gone,  and  myself  sick  as  death 
\frora  the  overdose  of  the  cjrug  I  "  *^ 

•^  "  This  is  horrible  !  "  Ivongworth  says,  $nding  his  voice, 
"I  cannot  realize  it.  But  why  should  you  suspect  Made- 
moiselle Reine  ?  Surëly  slie  knows  nothing  of  this." 
/  "  She  was  the  only  one  who  knew  of  this  money.  When 
Mr.  Martin  left  he  saw  her  whispering  to  iiim  across  the  gâte 
— he  wa?  ^ere  this  nî^ning  and  told  me." 
'.'Still— "  -        «fc  • 

"  Look  hère,  Laurence  !  "     She  -holds  lu^handkerchief, 
marked  with  the  name  in  full,    "  Reine  LaSiFe."     "Cathe 
nne  foun(J  this  at  my  b'èdside  this  morning.    It  was  not'there 
last  nf^t."         \   '    '        '      ^  ,  . 

"Still " 

•♦  Ix)ok  hcre  I  look  hère  !  "  In  a  state  of-feverish  excite 
naent  she  holds  up  to  viow  a  sponge  and  two  or  llirec'smnl 
keys,  "Catherime  found  thèse  in  her  room  this  morning- 
tl:ey  fell  out  of  her  dre^s-i)pçket.  The  woman  is  hér  friend-  * 
^e  woul<!r  not  havc  told  if  s'ie  had  thouglit  it  cojildhurt  hm 
Smellthat  spçyige— ^has  i^  been  soaked  in_  chldioform  ?  1 
.tell  you-she  told  him  of  the  money,  I  tell  you  she  let  hiin 
in,   and  was   with    him  herç  last   night.      His  kef  s -»6nld 


..     * 


■^^* 


mi 


*'  % 


hot  Ht  ;    )ie   had    to  pîck    theriock,    Laurence,  yçtLW^c 
h«d  an  escaf*e.     I, n.evr  fikc<l  her,  I  always  knew  MPV'teis 


m 


.f,  ^ 


-,f 


.  j 


0 


ANOTHER   tAY. 


!  shock  ol 

le  goes  on 
:ered  ;  bui 
is  fittir  g  a 
ap  in  be*l 
iV^is  face 
1  over  1)1' 
jrin  uiidci 
ig  I  wokï 
drder,  the 
c  as  death 

lis  voice. 

et  Made- 
»» 

^     When 
5  the  gatfl 


Ikerchief, 

"Cathe 

not'there 


;h  excite 
rec  'snial 
orning^ 
friend- 
hurt  h«i 
Drm?  1 
let  hiin 
'S  "«ould 


m 


You  must  give  i  e    jp  '  and  at 


-  * 


t»d,  bod,  bad  to  the  cote 
once." 

He  ris<V5  froiD  his  seat  and  walks  to  the  window.  He  has 
given  her  up,  he  ^elieves  her  false  and  treacherous,  but  it 
wnngs  his  heart  to  hear  this. 

"Hâve  you  asked  hW?"  hesays,  coming  back.  •  It  u 
^t  fair  to  condemn  her  unheard.  Your  évidence  is  circ-un- 
ttantial  évidence,  the  napst  unreliable  in  the  world.  It  may 
onlybeacbmbination  6f circumstances ;  she  may  be  inno- 
cent  in  the  face  ofit  aOli' 

,  "  You  do  not  believe  one  virord  of  what  you  are  saj^ng  I 
can  see  H'in  your  face.  No,  I  hâve  not  seen  her,  I  nevei 
y^X  ta  see  again.  Cath  èrine  tells  me  she  has  kept  her  room 
tBat  she  looks  dazed  wilh'  terror-guilt  would  be  the  bettei' 
urord.  ^  Well  she  may  I  she  is  guiltyof  sopjething  worse  than 
a  cfurfe,  shl^  is  guîlty  of  jeing  foqnd  ,ouL  " 

" ^at do  you  intend  to«do  ?"  *' 

^'.«Jintendtotùrnherout.   Yes,  this  very day.    Not  anot*he. 
Jght  ^hall  she  sleep  urder  this  roof;  it  ^  never  been  a 
h^^erfor  thieves.    Let  her  go  and  join  her  robbe4  lover,  foi 
heishei\lover,andfollowîdherhere.   What  he  has  sto»e«  tUm,  . 
jne  will  keepthem  for  a  whilc;  when  that'k  g,M»e  she  can 
"•ïelp  him  lo  steal  more."  W' 

,  '^Madak  you  are  mei-cilesp!  You  muA  not  act  in  this 
reckless  ,wâv,  foç  your  o^  sake.  Remembei  nhe  is  your 
grand.daiighty,  your  chikrs  child."  , 

^    .  •'My.fcWséonthèça-lhe  mother  wlq  fled  from  me,  the 
«    daughter  ^ho^has  disgracîd  4  '     The    ame  of  WinJsor  hai 
■^beç^  dishonorëd  by  them  bpth.   How  ddre  you  pleail  for  hei  ! 
^  '  But  foç^  you  ..Hese  girls  lever  would  ha^K  ïek  font  in  thii 
bouse  r  \  .  i»  •%.    |k 

"No  need  to  rtmind  Je  of  that.     t^^ét  niy  in-'efarred 


dtrr^  «j^  yotnio,  '  ;Stm,  )BsTlcë  tt  justict.  ICoSr 
«  deiun  hçi;,if  yo^^  lilt^e  ;  b;,,^  hekr|kw-4«iid  di  her,  »nd^ 
^    Ker  to  t;'    you  ♦I^e  «j^th.-  '^        ,         >■  Ut 


•^      ^' 


•''■•    t," 


■,r 


\. 


,v 


fto 


ASOTHER  DaY. 


She  aeues  the  bell-rope,  and  pulls  it  Defore  he  tas  fiiiriy 
•pokeH  the  words.  In  ail  the  years  he  h*î  known  her,  I.<^. 
worth  has  never  seenher  proud  self-eonlrol,  even  in  intenw 
•nger,  désert  her  before. 

"Not  oow?"  he  cries;  "not  before  mel    I  will  not 

*  I  say  you  shall  stay  I'  she  cries,  passionately.  «You 
hâve  pleaded  for  her— you  shall  stay  and  hear  her  plead  foi 
herself  tf  you  leave  me  now,  I  will  hâte  you  as  long  as  1 
live  I  " 

He  falls  back.  Catherine  enters,  looking  flurried  and 
•cared.     She,  too,  has  never  seen  her  mistress  like  this. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Reine  ?  " 

**In  her  own  room,  ma'ana." 

"  Tell  her  to  come  hère." 

The  girl  goes.     Once  more  Longworth  starts  to  his  feet 
||fH    "  Mrs.  Windsor,  it  will  be  in  the  very  worst  possible  taite 
•  ftir  me  to  remain.     Consider " 

"  I  will  consider  nothing.  Remain  you  must  and  shall, 
confront  her  in  "her  guilt.", 

The  door  opens  on  the  moment— retreat  is  impossible— 
and  Rrine  enters.  Her  dreary  eyes  fall  upon  him,  then 
hum  to  the  figure  sitting  upright  in  the  bed.  She  slowly  ad- 
vances. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  madame  ?  " 

She  is  pale,  and  cold,  and  misérable  ;  but  the  mastering 
expression  ofher  face  is  ohe  of  utter  weariness.  She  looks 
worn  out,  as  though  even  to  speak  or  niove  were  unutterable 
ldx)r  and  pain.  And  once  agam  Longworth  thinks,  as  he 
gazes'\gloomily  at  her  :  * 

"If  guih  can  look  with  such  eyes  as  thèse,  how  is 
oian  to  know  innocence  or  truth  in  this  world .?  " 

"  I  »ent  for  you,"  Mrs.  Windsor  answers,  with 


V  is  vtyaAx 
suppresggo' 


véhémence.    ^Ybù  expected  to  be  sent  for,  did  y^u  not  ? 
r»«nf»for  you  to  ask  yon  a  few  questions.     Were  yoa  ot 


,*^ 


AKÛTttEH  bAY 


3«i 


this 


room  between  twr   «d  thiee  thia 


•we  /on  not,  Ln 
raorning?" 

Reine  stands  mute. 

"Wfllyou  answer?" 

'«  I  cannot,"  she  says,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

"You  hear!"  cries  Mrs.  Windsor,  tuming  in  a  .:«.adful 
iort  of  trmmph  to  her  friend-"  she  cannot  !  Are  1^2 
*fra.dto  tell  a  lie  mademoiselle?     I  hâve  heard  C  heTê 

Tar°"'»'""^'  '"^  '  "^^^^  '^^"^  «  --  -  -ce' 

tone  noZh      r"  "^^'  '"^  ^'^^'^  "  ^  ^^A—  in  her 
tone,  no  flash  m  her  eye,  «  I  am  no  thief." 

sTence  ''"  '°  '°™''  °'  *'^  ^*°'^°  "^<'"«/? 

" y°"  ^'d  n°t  admit  him  last  night  into  this  Luse^  " 
Madame,  no,  I  did  not." 

^i^2ZZ"'^  "°'  1''  ''"•  •"  "^'^  ^°°-  bet.eehnwo  and 
three  m  the  mornmg  ?  You  did  not  hide  in  your  pocket  tht 
.ponge  «.th  which  he  stupefied  me?  You  dp'^ot  vt 
know,  peAaps,  that  he  stole  the  money?  A  «  we  me" 
Mr.  Longworth  believes  in  your  innocence-I  want  you  o 
proveitwuhyouroHrnlips.    Ans^rer!-^  want  you  to 

that  goes  through  Longworth's  heart  like  a  knife 

"Oh  1  my  God  I  »  she  says,  " I  am  a  sinner,  but  what  hâve 
I  done  to  deserve  this I" 

"Mrs.  Windsor,"  Longworth  exclaims,  passionately   "thi. 
-|st  cease.     Reine,"  h.  takes  her  hand  and  almos  'crush 
t  .h  the  unconscous  intensity  of  his  grasp,  "corne  with  ni 
Iinustspeakone  Word  to  you  alone."  ^ome  wuh  n.e. 

She  lets  hiin  lead  her  ouf      \n  fK..  ,  ^ 

.1  passage  he  stops,  still 


yasptog  jjey  4hh)4- 


i\ 


"Reine,"  he  says,  "for 'the  hom^  of  ^1  vromen,  tell  me 
that  you  knpw  nothing  of  this  rpbbery     I.  was  thr;uHh  Z 


lé 


.^■•.  *<» 


J6J 


ASOTHER  DA^Y. 


fon  fint  came  hère— in  sorae  way  I  fee}  answ&abie  for  yott 
through  that." 

"I  wish,"  she  cries  out,  and  wrenches  her  hand  free, 
*  that  I  ha^  been  dead  before  I  ever  came  I  " 

"Therd  are  worse  things  in  the  world  than  death..  Bo 
tell  me— you-fknow  nothing  of  this  ?  " 

She  stands  silent  In  the  eyes  that  met  his  there  is  the 
took  of  a  hunted  animal  at  bay,  with  the  knife  at  its  throat. 

"  I  will  teir  you  nothing,"  she  answers,  looking  at  him 
•teadily  ;  "  not  one  word." 

Th«y  stand  for  a  moment  face  tb  face.  lïe  is  deadly  pale, 
but  something  tha.t  is  almost  a  flush  of  scom,  of  défiance, 
has  risen  over  the  gray  pallor  of  her  fàfce. 

*'I  am  answered,"  he  says,  slowly;  "as  Mrs.  Windsor 
says,  you  were  in  her  Toom  this  morning  with  the  thief 
Durand.  Then  Heaven  help  you,  aiîd  help  me,  who  once 
believed  in  you.  I  thought  you  almost  an  angel  of  light— 
truthful,  noble,  innocent  as  a  yery  child.  And  you  are'-the 
wife  of  a  gambler  and  a  burglar,  his  aider  and  helper.  Go 
to  him  1  You  are  well  fitted  for  each  other  !  From  this  bout 
I  shall  hâve  only  one  hope  in  connection  with  you,  and  that 
that  I  may  never  look  «pon  your  fape  again  !  "  , 

He  turns  and  leaves  her.     In  the  hall  below  he  meeti  ^ 
Catherine.  "  i 

'  Tell  krs.  Windsor  T  will  corne  again  to-night,"  he  says. 
I  am  busy  now,"  and  so  goes. 

The  girl  runs  upstâirs.  Irt  the  upper  hall  Reine  sliU 
Jlands  as  he  has  left  I^r,  her  hands  locked  together,  her  eye« 
ftxed,  her  face  stony.  Something  in  that  frozen  agony  of  face 
and  attitude  frighteps  the' servant,  and  she  bursts  out  çiying  : 
••  Oh,  Miss  Reine  I  Miss  Reine  !  YoU  Virére  always  so 
gentle  and  kinid,  .and  to  «hink  that  it  «ras  me  foond  the 
■ponge  I    If  l'd  'known,   ï  d  eut  my  hând  off  before  I 


'UlVnr  ■  xO 


evei 


wwwsr  -Fl^iyrver  believe  yog  taew^^r  TBÎ^ 


• 


iboiit  the  robbçry"to  the  «'a>  nfjijy  death  1 


'>. 


.^. 


e  for  jroi 

land  free, 

ath.     Bo 

:re  is  th« 
s  throat. 
ig  at  him 

ladly  pale, 
de&ance, 

.  Windsoi   y 
the   thiel 

who  once  " 

x)f  light — 

u  are '-the 

per.     Go 
this  houl 

and  that     " 

he  meeti 

'he  says, 

jeine  stiU 
her  eye« 
»y  of  face 
:  çrying  : 
Iways  80 
)and  the 
re  I  évci  ' 


âtryruà»  dav. 


36J 


aowly  Reine  seemj  to  aNrake.  and  after  a  setond's  b»*aà 
•tare  holds  out  hcr  hand. 

"Thank  you.  Catherine,"  she  says,  dreaiilj  ;  "and  *hank 
you  again,  beforc  I  go  away,  for  ail  the  attention  you  hav* 
paid  me  since  I  hâve  been  hère." 

"  Oh  1  miss,  are  yoa  going  ?  Oh  I  what  will  Mjs:  Marii- 
•ay  when  she  cornes  back  I  " 

A  sort  of  shudder  passes  over  her  listener.  She  turi^from 
fcer,  and  opens  once  more  her  grandmother's  door.  Mra 
Wmdsor  has  fallen  back  among  the  piUows,  panting  fromlet 
«cent  excitement,  but  exdted  srill. 

"WhatI  You  again  I"  she  exclaims.  "You  d^e  to 
enter  herH  Is  there  anything  Monsieur  Duran(ybrgi>t  last 
night  that  ydu.would  like  to  secure  before  you  gof  " 

«  Madame,"  Reine  says,  and  approaches  the  bed,  <*  do  not 
«y  any  more.  One  day  you  may  be  sorry  for  having  said  so 
much  I  want  nothing-I  hâve  taken  nothing.  T  thank  you 
tor  ail  you  hâve  given  n^e,  and  I  am  going  away,  and  will 
corne  back  no  more.'*  .^^...^^  % 

The  woman  before  her,  whTh^always  disliked  her,  who 
Msremed  in  that  dislike,  lets  the  rage  that  cqnsumes  her 
aâve  uncontrollable  vent  now. 

"  Go  !  "she  cries.  "  Yes,  go,  you  viper,  you  thief  !  To« 
Jajighterof  a  thief  I  Youi^beggarly  fathercame  a^d  stolê  my 
child,  yourbeggarly loyer cômes  and  steals  mymoney  !  Go  I 
the  sjght  of  you  is  hateful  to  my  eyes  1  Go,  f  ^ay-to  à( 
ouce  I  ^y  ,  , 

"At  once,"  the  girldrearilyrepeats.       -  '"       .        ■ 

"  This  hoûr,  this  moment,  and  ne^er  rçt^rn.     Ail  the  dû 

jTice  that  has  ever  touched  me  hAs  come  uponme  tbrougi 

rou  and  yours  I    ,you  shall  disgrâce  me  by  vou^  pi^sence  nt 


longar.^    Last  night's  booty  will  k„,,  ,^ 
^'^l^Jgi5!'fenJlkgQna?0tf  knQ\t  t>  ell 


eep  you,' in  comfort  foi 


how  tOgut  more 


"W  thîng 


15^  and  living  or  dead  never  let  m'b  set  you  agj^in  !  " 
Wittoùt  a  Word,  Reine  turnsanigoes      Ii.her  own  roook 


:% 

\  "    . 

'  .  * 

*  «        *■■,,■.-•■■ 

■^ 

'?l 


-k 


f^^      "        0*. 


*;• 


#' 


ÂftOTHMR  HA  y. 


hers  iw>  longer,  s\  s  stands  for  a  Httle,  her  hand  m  hei  hetd 
tiying  to  steady  herself  and  recall  her  dazcd  thojghts. 

She  is  tp  go,  andAt  once.  Yes,  thatjs  easi}y  understood! 
She  glances  around  ^  her  preparations"need  not  take  lon^ 
I  AD  she  brought  with  her  is  still  in  her  old  French  tiiùk. 
rhe  few  things  necessary  to  take  immediately  she  putMiï  a 
bag  ;  not  one  article  that  "Mrs.  Windsor^s  abhorred  money 
hû  bought  among  them.  Her  purse  with  th^.last  quarter's 
allowance  is  in  her  pocket  ;  she  cannot  d(*  without  that. 
Lbngworth's  diamond  is  on  her  hand  ;  she  sees  it,  takes  it 
off,  and  lays  it  on  the  table.  Then  she  puts  on  her  hat  and 
iacket,  and  is  ready. 

She  does  not  raeet  either  of  the  women  servants  as  she 
({oes  down  stairg.  She  opens  the  house-door  and  stands  for 
a  moment'taking  a  farewell  look  at  ail  about  her. 

The  evening  is  dull  and  overcast  ;  clouds  hurry  across  the 
iky— last  night's  storm  has  not  entirely  stormed  itself  out^ 
>t  intends  to  rain  again  before  iporning.  But  on  the  train, 
die  rain  will  not  interfère  with  to-niglit's  journey,  •>' 

She  is  going  to  New  York/  It  is  a  large  city,  and  she  has 
been  in  it  for  a  brief  time  ;  she  has  no  otherobject  in  select- 
ing  it.  What  she  will  do  when  she  gets  there,  she  does  not 
yet  know.  '  '•- 

The  night-train  leaves  at  leven  ;  it  is  not  much  past  fii  s 
n(fW\  What  will  she  do  in  the  interval  ?  Then  she  reinem- 
bers  §h,e  has  promised  to  call  and  see  Miss  Hariott  this 
evening,  and  she  will  kôep  her  word.  Surely  Miss  Hariott 
has  not  heard  the  vile  news  yet  ;  she  cannot  unless  Long- 
worih  has  gone  and  told  her,  and  she  does  not  think  he  is 
capable  of  doing  that.  Yes,  she  will  see  |^tis3  Hariott  once 
more  for  the  ast  time.  How  very  sorry  slir  is  to  lose  Miss 
Uariott's  .'steem,  ^so  good  a  «i^^inan,  wnuse  respect  and 
■ffe<;tion  are  well  ^rth  having. 

B»ie  shuts  the  door  and  wafks  sl<Wly  awayT  At  the  gaio 
ihe  pauies   and   looks  bMk  for  a  moment      The  sombm 


,^/ 


w^ 


MMINE'J  KP/lGBt. 


365 


hei  head 
its. 

iderstooçL 
take  loi>^ 
tch  trm^k. 

put» to  a 
ed  money 

quarter*» 
lout  that. 
t,  takes  it 
r  hat  and 

nts  as  she 
itands  for 

icross  the 
elf  out-i- 
the  train, 

d  she  has 
in  select- 
does  not 

past  fi^  s 
î  retiiem- 
riott  this 
î  Hariott 
3s  Long- 
nk  he  is 
iott  once 
ose  Miss 
)ect  and 


Stone  Hoasc  tfcems  to  stare  at  her  frowni:.j;?y  jut  uf  it«,many 

.  glûnmerin»  5y<îs,  a  scowl  seenis  to  darken  its  duU,  grtiy 'front. 

Oh,  illomencd  home  into  which  she'has  béen  forced,  qut  of 

which  §he  is  driven/a  criminal»and  an  outcast.     Onegreat 

,heart-wmng  sob  breaks  Jiom  hej,  then  she  humea  away, 

.honieless,  %,ndiess.  into  the  darkening  ni^t. 


gested. 


CHAPTER  XXVII.     / 
rbinb's  KNIGHT.       / 

|ISS  HARIOTT  sits  alone,  ovér  a  bock.    She  is  an 

inveterate  bookworm,  and  heavy  or  light  literature, 

according  to  her  inood,  is  alike  dèv^oured  and  di- 

Her  book  this  evening  is  a  iiovel,  a  nevv  and  iwpular 


one,  well  and  spiritedly  written,  and  the  thoughtful  interest 
of  the  story  absorbs  her.  She  lays  it  xlown  at  last  with  a  mu. 
sing  face. 

"  I  know  what  Longwortb  will  say  about  this  book— that 
looked  iipon  sin)j)ly  as  a  story  to  «liile  away  an  idle  hour  it 
is  well  told  and,  fulfills  its  mission  ;  that  looked  upon  as  the 
teacher  of  ,,ny  particiilar  truth,  it  is  a  faiiure,  and  that  he  who 
reads  w,ll  r>sc*  fro.n  its  periisal  pcither  sadder  nor  wiser  than 
when  he  sat  down.  Well,  why  should  he?  The  story  is 
strictly  uioral,  though  it  inciilcates  no  esi>ecial  moral,  and  iny 
expérience  is,  that  the  novelist  who  sets  out  to  preach  a  ser- 
•  mon  through  the  mouth?  of  half  a  dozen  fictitious  charactera. 
«lK)ils  two  good  things,  a  sermon  and  a  story.  In  the  mai. 
story  writers  seem  to  understand  that  their  mission  is  as  mutL 
to  amuse  as  instrjict,  to  show  us  life  as  it  is  or  might  be,  and 
for  the  rest 


/ 


jayJtluaiacitly,  as  Virgil t»  Pame^  i^Let as  toT 
talk  of  thèse  things— let  us  look  and  pass  on  f '" 

The  Httle  cottage  parler  is  as  it  always  is,  coiy,  hoiBcliko 


the  gaia 
sombn 


•s  ■<• 


i 


) 


i^  MMINE'S  KNIGHT 

warm,  and  bright  The  shine  of  the  fire«lints  jn  the  picin 
frames,  sparkles  ou  the  keys  of  th^  opcn  i^ano,  and  flashes  on 
the  pretty  woiuiuly  knick-knacks  scatterell  carelcssly  every 
where.  Sh^  gets  up,  purfiing  aside  book  ajid  work-basket, 
walks  to  the  window,  and  looks  out  at  the  dark  and  gustj 
•venii.g. 

"I  wonder  if  my  Little  Queien  is  coming?*'  she  thinks. 
"  She  promised,  and  she  invariabljjr  keeps  her  word— rare  and 
precioïïs  quaHty  in  young  ladyhood.  Something  is  the  mat 
t^  with  the  child,  somethinj^  more  than  ordinarily  serious, 
sometning  more  than  the  gbing  of  this  young  Frenchmaa 
Can  she  and  Larry  hâve  quarreled  ?  But  that  is  hardl^  like 
/  ly  either— What  is  there  to  quarrel  about?  She  cares  more 
for  him  than  she  is  willing  tp  own  evep-  tolj,erself,  and  he, 
perhaps,  is  exacting.  Ah  1  I  knewshe  would  not  fail  I  Hère 
she  is  I  •'  -*r         ■ 

She  hurries  to  the  door,  and  holds  it  open.  ,  Reine  closes 
the  gâte  and  cornes  slowly  up  the  path,  carrying  a  large  hand- 
bag,  her  face  so  pale,  her  step  so  lagging  and  weaiy,  that 
A^iss  Hariott  knits  her  brow  in  anxipus  perplexity. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  raatter  wjth-  the  girl  ?  "  she  thiriks.  / 
•'  Has  that  gorgon  of  a  grandmother  been  naggipg  the  Jp  ouV 
of  her,  or  is  it  only  the  departure  of  Durand  i"  * 

She  takes  Reine  iî^  he*  arfias,  and  kisses  hefcordially,  look 
ing  searchiiigly  into  her  face. 

"  •  Oh,  rare  pale  Ma^garet  1  '  You  corne  gliding  Ijke  a 
ghost  out  of  the  gloamin^.  How  wliite,  and  cold,  and 
wretciiedyoulOok!  Areyousick?  Are  vou  worried  ?  Wlal 
is  it  that  troubles  my  Q^een  )»     Tell  ^oui  ffiry  godmother.  *     . 

But  Reine  only  sinks  in  sïencejrinto  a  chair,  and  iays  hei 
\  h^aë  in  a  tired,  spiritless  way  agamst  t/te  cushion. 
l/  -* Arc  you  in  trouble,  dear?     I  wish  I  couiJ  help  you— J 
iMSti-yott  could  tell  mtt^   ~    ' 


\ 


jrandtHothei^?^- Har^g^ 

been  annoying  you  ?  "  ,  _  i 

"  She  wouid  tell  you  l  hâve  beenanno)ingher-i«)metKaif 


c 


T«'l':''*r"^^TÎ^ 


Cttlll 


UÙNÉ  'S  KmcUT. 


lepict 
lashes  oo 
ly  every 
k-basket. 
ind  gust} 


\ 


thiriks.  /^ 


\ 


J67 


than  annoying  her.    Oh,  Miss  Hariott .  dear  au^  tru« 
A^iend,  I  «m  in  trouble— yes,  my  heart  is  almost  brbken,  bui 
I  cannot  tell  you.     Where  would  be  thk  use  ?    You  could 
not  help  me,  no  one  in  the  world  can.     A  Uttle  while  ago,  and 
it  would  havé  been  différent— a  few  wol^ds  rai^i^have 
deared  aU  up  ;  now  it  is  too  late,  too  late  forever.    There  arc 
things  one  may  forgive,  but  never,  never  forget     No,  do  not 
look  at  me  like  that;   I  Cannot  tell  you  indee^,  and  you 
could  not  help  me  if  I  did.     There  are  sorae  sfews  no  one 
can  help  us  to  beai  ;  we  must  endure, them  alone.     To-mor- 
row  you  will  know— every  one  in  the  town  will  know  what 
Las  hap|)ened;  but  to-night  I  do  not  ^ant  to  speak  or  think 
of  it     Let  me  sit  hère,  and  listen  to  you,  and  forget  for  a  lit- 
tleiflcan."  ,  *» 

Miss  Hariott  looks  at  her,  and  listens  tôher  in  wonder  and 
silence.     Her  words  falter  as  she  speaks  tl^n.  her  eyes  are' 
haggard,  a  white  spent  look  blanches  her  fS*  At  last  the 
lady  of  the  house  speaks,  and  the  strong,  pfacftcal  common 
sens©  that  is  her  Ifading  characteristic  marks  every  word. 

"  My  dear  chil^"  she  says,  briskly,  "  there  is  an  exhausted 
look  in  your  face  that  I  hâve  seen  before,  and  recognize,  and 
don' t  like.     Hâve  you  had  tea  ?  "  *. 

"Tea?"  Reine  repeats,  faintly;  «*iia*'  ) 

"I  thought  not.     Dinner?" 
"No."     Miss  Hariott  stares.  /  ^ 

''Nodinneil     Breakfast?" 

•  Yes  -no- 1  forget,"  the  girl  answers,  an<|^ts  lier  hand 
>  10  uei  head.     '^No,  I  believe  I  hâve  eatén  oothing  to-day," 
"Graclous  powersl"   cries  Miss  Hariott,  and  sits  boit    ' 
opright  in  blank  consternation  ;  no  dinner— no  brealçfast— 


4* 


»    She  springs  to  her  feet,  opeiys  th^ 
fcv  Candace.    Thii  yellow  IjumliàTa 


"  Çandace^  is  supper  nearly  ready 
AU  ready,  tnisua— table  vex  ànd  ev 


d  caUs  jojidly 


I  "TT 


||  II.  I il    I  iiii   iii 


r'  ' 


J6« 


MEME' s  KNKHIT. 


\ 


-J>.. 


"Set  rhe  table  for  two ;  and,  look  hère  !  broil  some  steak— 
not  too  rare,  ininJ — ^just  slightly  underdone.  And  makc 
coflFee — she  prefers  coffee.  And  don't  be  five  iuinutes  about 
it     Miss  Reine  is  hère,  and  has  had  no  dinner." 

Candace  disappears.  Miss  Hariott  retnrns,  draws  a« 
chair  dose,  and  takes  both  the  girl's  hands  in  her  own. 

"  Dear,"  she  softly  says,  "  are  )\ou  sure  there  is  nothing  I 
can  do  for  you  ?  I  want  to  do  something  so  much.  I  am 
veiy  fond  of  you,  my  little  one.  I  suppose  I  was  nvivei 
meant  to  be  a  wife,  but  I  surely  must  hâve  been  meant  for  a 
mother.  If  I  had  a  daughter,  I  do  nor  know  I  could  be 
^er  tRan  I  am  of  you,  and  I  would  wish  her  to  be 
you.  Reine,  if  you  are  unhappy  at  your  grand 
I  know  you  are — leave  her,  and  corne  and 


nd 


Nothing  would  inake  me  so  happy.  I  havt 
a  thousfS!!  things  to  be  thankful  for  j  but  I  am  a  woman 
alone  ail  the  same,  and  I  am  lonely  often  enough.  Be  my 
daughter,  my  sister,  anything  you  plèase.  You  know  I  love 
you,  and  I  think  you  are  a  little — just  a  little — fond  of  your 
old  maid  friend."  . 

"  My  fi-iend  !  my  friend  !  "  Reine  repeats,  and  leans  for. 
ward,  with  filling  eyes,  to  kiss  her.  "  What  would  my  life 
hâve  been  hère  but  for  yôu  ?  Do  not  say  any  Jiiore  to  me 
— my  heart  is  so  full  I  cannot  bear  it.  I  wish  I  might  corne, 
but  I  may  not;  to  morrow  you  will  know  why.  And  when 
you  hear  ail,  do  not  think  of  me  too  hardly — oh  !  do  noL 
for,  inileed,  I  am  not  guilty  !  Could  I  speak  and  betray  mj 
brother?  It  is  ail  very  bitler— bitterer  than  dealh;  out  the 
'"'very  worst  of  it  ail  has  been  the  thought  that  you  -nay  be 
lieve  what  they  say,  and  think  me  the  despicable  and  guilt) 
creatuie  that  Lhey  do." 

"  Is  her  mind  wandering  ?  "  think-'  Miss  Hariott,  in  dis- 
naj-dark,  deep  trouble  look*  at  her  çik  f  thosfc^ 
Ui|(e,  melancholy  evcs,  but  not  à  deliricus  mind.  ' 

'*î  do  n&t,  undersland,"  she  says,  perp'«ix'»d''        'V''^*t 


ne  steak— 
Vnd  makc 
iites  aboui 

iraws  aei 
[)wn. 

nothing  I 
ch.  I  am 
iras  iivivei 
eant  .for  a 
could  be 
hier  to  be 
ur  grand 
:oine  and 

I  havt 
a  woman 

Be  my 
3W  I  love 
1  of  your 

eans  for- 
i  my  life 
re  to  me 
;ht  corne, 
,nd  when 

do  noL 
etray  mj 

out  thc 

Tiay  be 

id  guilt> 

t,  in  di»- 
ff thogr 


\*r\.^ 


d3 


you  mean  by  guUt  ?  „  What  is  it  they 


who  are  '  they  ? 


-^ 


36» 

you  o(  and 

•  Jif"  '  ^  ?r'-     '^''"  ''°  "°'  ^°°'^'  of  «^o^se.    Madame 
Windsor  and  M.  Longworth."  "«i^nic 

" Longworth  I"  cries  the"  other.  indignantly.     "  Do  you 

he  help  ,t  ?     Everything  ,s  against  me,  and  I  can  sW  nothing, 
so^weU  that  I  fear,  I  fear  heVill  make  you  believe  megmlty. 

uf  mans  bbnd  selfishness,  I  would  »ot  beUeve  one  word 
«igamst  you.  Believe  !  I  would  not  listen  1  Hâve  I^^ 
eye^  hâve  I  not  judgment,  do  I  not  fenow  you  weU?     I 

tletlf      r7  "''  °"  ^°"'"  ^°°^"^^^  ^"d  ^th,  though  au 
megoss.pof  Baymouthstood  up  with  one  mouth  and  con- 
demned  you  I     Oh  1  Little  Queen,  my  friendship  isT 
inore  than  that;  one  word  from  Longjlrfh  v,ill  not  shakV 
It.     I  see  your  nng  is  gone  ;  can  it  b^ssible  tl^t  aU  is  at 
an  end  between  yoif  ?  "  7 

"Alir'is  the  dreaiy  écho.  -  / 

'' Since  wh«,  has  this  been  ?    Did  k  happen  to-day  ?  " 
rhe  breaking  of  our  engagement?    Oh  I  no,  a  week 
*go,  before  he  went  away." 

•'And  I  knew  nothing  of  it  from  either  of  you  I  WeU  ! 
and  what  was  it  ail  abouti»  Is  Laurence  Longworth  going 
out  of  his  sensés  ?"  **     " 

"Corning  into.his  sensés  he  might  tell  you.     There  is  t ' 
S^sh  proverb,  «A  wise  man  changes  his  mind-a  fool 
"^*'-     M.   Longwprth  has  sitiply^^gwn    h.m>;^lf  a     " 


mn,ahrchanged  hïs  raind.     Do  not  let  us  talk 


dame.    I 


am  so,  weary  and  heal-t-sick  of  it  ail. 


of  it.  ma 


There  is  a  heart-sob 


\\\ 


every  word.     Miss  Hariot/  «tart»  ap 


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t^» 

>' 


370 


KEINE^S  KinOBT. 


^  Yon  shall  not  saj  one  otiier  wo|4,  ycu  poor  fiunishec 
child.  Ohi  what  brutes,  what  blind/stUffiid  idiots  even  the 
deverest  and  best  men  can  be  I  Td  thini  of  Locfgworth's 
doubting  you " 

"Supper,  missis,"  says  Candace,  and  Miss  Hîuiott  scise» 
her  guest  apd  leads  her  on  to  the  dining-room. 

Reine  is  famished,  and  does  not  know  il  until  the  fragrancr 
of  the  coffee  and  waffles  greets  her.  In  the  centre  of  the 
table  the  soft  drop  light  bums  ;  méats,  sweetmeats,  tea'  and 
coffee,  cakes  and  pies,  Candace's  masterpieces,  are  spread,  in 
tcmpting  array.  i 

"  Now,"  exdaims  the  hostess,  "  you  are  to  eat  every  xa/at- 
■el  of  this  bit  of  steak,  and  thèse  fried  potatoes.  Candace'i 
'fried  potatoes  are  things  to  dreatn  of  And  you  are  to  drink 
two  cups  of  cioffee,  and  by  the  time  that  is  donè  you  will  be 
a  living,  breathing  being  once  more.  No  breakfast^  no  din- 
ner,  no  supper  1     Hère,  you  shall  hâve  a  toast  : 

'  Hen^t  a  health  to  aUthow  that  we  love  I 
Hcre*!  a  health  to  ail  thca  that  love  os  I 

Hoe'sa  health  toall  thoM  that  1ot«  them  that  lois  thow  that  lova  than 
that  loTe  thoK  that  lore  os  1  '  * 

A  faint  laugh  rewards  this  quotation.  Hearts  may  break, 
but  mouths  must  eat,  ànd  Reine  really  feels  the  need  of  food 
for  the  first  time  to-day.  Still  her  peiformance  is  eminently 
unsatisfactory  to  the  giver  of  the  feast,  who  frowns  as  she 
•ees  her  niost'  tempting  dainties  poshed  aside,  almost  un- 
tasted. 

**  A  wilfiil  girl  must  hâve  her  way,  but  if  you  want  to  oome 
«ff  victorions  in  any  struggle  of  life,  the  first  ingrédient  is  s 
good  appetite.  Reine,  I  wish  you  would  remain  with  me. 
That  big  imcanny  house,  and  the  oppressive  majesty  crf  its 
■ittress,  are  killing  yoo  by  indies.    SUy  with  me  tonight 


/  /' 


TTIeiit*^ 

"l  cjinnot,  ind 


Ml  staying  longer  tlum  I  o^t 


■île- 


i*-. 


-f^ 


ME/MB 'S  KKIGHT. 


M-  fiunishec 
ts  even  the 
•onfgworth's 

riott  seiz^* 

e  fragrancr 
itre  of  the 
ts,  tea  and 
!  spread,  in 

eyerjr  nKHr> 

Candace'i 
re  to  drink 
irou  will  be 
is^  no  din- 


371 


•tlova 


nay  break, 
»ed  of  food 
eminently 
us  as  she 
dtnost  un- 

Ht  to  oome 
sdient  is  a 
\  with  me. 
ssty  d[  ita 
w  teHM^hl 


«4. 


B  I  OVfb* 


jojr     Wfll  yoi  pardon  me  if  I  say  good-night  at  once,    l 
leel  hke  a  new  being,  strengthened  and  refreshed  since  1 

M  K  !  K%  ^°;  ^''^^'  ^°  ™*^  Sood.     I  cannot  sa^what  I 
leei,  Dut  Indeed  I  am  most  grateful." 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  gratitude  between  those 
irho  love,  dear  ch.ld_it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  re- 
ceivfe  m  such  cases.     Will  you  indeed  go?" 

"I  must  I  hâve  no  choice  in  the  matter.  If  I  had  I 
would  stay-oh  I  how  gladly-wiih  you  forever." 

She  nses  ànd  résumes  her  hat  and  jacket.  Miss  Hariott 
•tonds  silent^  Watching  her  wistfully.  She  goes  with  her,  still 
«ient,  troubled.  and  perplexed  to  the  door.  It  is  quite  dark 
now,  windle^  and  warm,  with  the  weight  of  coming  rair 
m  the  air.  Hère  Reine  pauses,  holds  out  both  hands,  and 
looks  up  mto  the  face  of  her  friend. 

.,,1^*.**"  \  ^y  ^«  y°»'  dearest,  truest,  best  friend,  of 
|U1  that  is  m  my  heart  ?  I  love  you,  I  thank  you,  and  even 
•f  in  spite  of  yourself  they  make  you  think  hardly  of  me.  I 
mUnever  love  you  or  thank  you  thfe  less.  Good-night  and 
good-by-I  hke  that  English  wordgood-by.  Good-by.  Mar 
raine  y  ■  j,^-r 

"But  only  until  to-morrow,"  Miss  Hariott  says,  in  vague 
doubt  and  alann.  "Come  and  spend  a  long  day  with  me 
to-morrow,  and  smg  for  me  your  pet  song,  'Normandie,  ma 
N  omiandie  I  '  "  »  "* 

Reine  smiles  faintly. 

«  Ah  ma  Normandie.  «Je"  vais  revoir,  ma  Normandie.' 
U  15  a  long  nme  smce  I  hâve  sung  that.  Gooa-by,  gcod-by  : 
It  »  tune  I  was  gone."  And  then  there  is  a  kiss,  and  aîno- 
ment  Utet  Miss  Hariott  stands  on  her  door-step  aldne 

She  1»  puzitled,  annoyed,  indignant  with  Longworth  and 
Mrs.  Windsor,  Without  quite  knowing  why.  What  does  it  ail 
^?    gome  grcat  trouble  h«  .«rely  brfatfeiriîêr^tm— 

ÏI^'LJl*!?  "  ■  ^'^  '"  ^""^  ^*^*  •«  "'«ht  she  la.  nev^r 
■•VU  tiKN  befor«     If  it  anything  connccted  with  Durand  ? 


■— ^1.»^  .  ^. «<...,«.... 


r 


-/: 


37« 


MfiINS'S  KNIGHT. 


Has  he  not  gone  ?  '  She  has  forgotten  to  ask.  TomontMi 
she  will  know  ail.  AU  what  ?  and  where  is  the  girl  gcing  in 
such  haste  now?  Will  Longworth  call  to-night  ?  Shr 
hopes  so  ;  he  will  clear  up  this  myStery  and  she  will  be  ablc 
to  give  him  a  pièce  of  her  mind.  Just  at  présent  ACiss  Har 
iott  feels  it  ^ould  be  an  unspeakable  coinfort  to  scold  some-  / 
body.  Dissatisfied,  curious,  troubled,  she  shuts  the  door  "pxî. 
goes  back  to  solitude  and  her  cheerful  sitting-room. 

Reine  meantime  hurries  on.  Her  way  to  the  station  takea 
her  past  her  church— a  pale  light  gliiDmers  inside,  and  she 
tums  and  goes  in.  One  light  only  burns,  the  light  of  th* 
"  everlâsting  lamp,"  and  by  its  tiny  ray  she  sees  half  a  dozer 
kneeling  figures  hère  and  there.  But  no  one  looks  up,  al' 
are  absorbed,  and  she  glides  without  noise  into  a  pew,  and 
kneels  down,  Her  prayer  is  wordless,  but  none  the  less  elo 
quent — the  ci^  of  a  tortured,  humbled,  agonized  hçai^^ds 
no  words.  One  is  there  who  reads  hearts.  Miserer^^kse . 
rere!  is  the  burden  of  that  voiceless  cry.  AU  othèP^i  is 
unavaUing.  He  who  listens  hère  alone  can  liclpî^and  heal, 
and  hâve  inercy.  ^ 

In  the  office  of  the  Baymouth  Phénix  gas  is  fiaring  at  five 
o'clock  this  duU  afternoon,  and  the  tidebt  business  and  print- 
ing  flows  on  rapidly  and  ceaselessly.  Irt  his  rooni  the  sub- 
editor,  rather  overworked  during  his  chiefs  absence,  is  pre- 
paring  to  take  an  early  departure,  and  inoves  about  putting 
un  hat  and  coat,  singing  a  cheerful  though  siibdued  stave  a-s 
he  does  so.     This  is  what  Mr.  0'Sulli\*n  sings  : 

•••Oh  I  whistle,  daughter,  whUtle,  and  you  shall  hâve  a  oow. 
•I  never  whistled  in  my  life  and  I  can't  whistle  now.' 
•Oh  I  whistle,  dajghter,  whistle,  and  you  sliall  hâve  a  man.' 
•1  never  whiîtlfcd  in  my  VA^—but  m  whistle  if  I  can.  " 

If»  well  to  be  seen  '  says  Mr.  O' Sullivan,  in  soliloqiiy 


•*  tt  im't  in  the  présent  day  she  lived»  or  it's  the  cow  she'd 
>um  whistled  for  not  the  man.     If  ail  I  hear  be  true— «iW« 


f. 


>>"i 


TomontM 

girl  gcing  in 
light  ?  Shf 
vkUI  be  ablc 
t  Miss  Har 
scold  some-  / 
;he  door  ivr;î 
>m. 

itation  takea 

lide,  and  she 

light  of  ths 

iiair  a  dozet. 

ooks  up,  ar 

a  pew,  and 

the  less  elo 

iKai^iâeds 

itiiéW^  is 
heal, 


I 


MEIfrPS  KNlGlfT. 


J73 


pî^and 


\ 

aring  at  five 
ss  and  print- 
oiu  the  sub- 
ence,  is  pre- 
)out  putting 
jed  stave  as 


n  a  oow. 


fc  a  nuta.' 
CM.  " 


in  soliloqtiy 
le  cow  she'd 
e  true-"«iW» 


tf -  httle  I  know  of  them  except  by  heanay-îf.  «ore  anc» 
ZX  ""^""^'y.^he  women  are  growing.  There  is  Mr. 
Beckvvth  sure  she  makes  no  secret  of  wha.  sne  man^ 
Beckwith  for.  There  is  Mrs.  Sheldon.  doesn't  aU  the Tw 
km.w  she  ,hre.  I  ong^orth  to  the  dogs  for  Sheldon  be"  L 
-^  1  5a.th.  u's  the  cow  the/d  hâve  whistled  for,  both  ^ 

Mr  O'Sullivan  salUps  fori,  goes  to  dinner,  at  which  meal 
Mr.    Longworth  do-.s   not  appear.      After  dinner,   and  a 
moderate  amount  of  time  spent  peacefully  smoking  to  aid 
digestion,  the  sub-editor  of  the  Phénix  starts  off  for  h^ 
hab«^al  constuurional-one  of  the  prettiest  walks,  and  thà 
wh.ch  he  most  affects  is  the  r^d  that  leads  to  the  station 
As  he  draws  near  the  church^he  espies  in  the  obscurity  a 
figure  that  has  a  vaguely  familiar  air.     In   a   moment   he 
recogmzes  ,t-.t  ,s  Mademoiselle  Reine  Landelle.     Is  she 
gomg  to  church  at  this  hour  ?     There  is  nothing  out  of  the 
commonorsurprisingto  CSulUvan  if'sheis;  he  goes  h  m! 
elf  someumes      But  as  the  light  of  the  street  lamp!  burn ing 

tÏ7     u      ^  ^^'"^''  '"'^^'  ^••"-     ^^^y^^S  an  impulse. 

he  follows  her  m,  takes  his  place,  in  a  pew  near  the  door 

wherc  he  can  watch  her,  himself  unseen. 
He  sees  her  kneel,  buo^  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  so  re 

namngidand  motionless  a  long  time.   Other  peoplearepray 

ng  around  h,m,  but  their  attitude  is  not  herslhers  su^f. 
sœue  deep  trouble  or  suffering.     Then  she  rises,  and  thJTx 
moment  she  has  passed  the  pew  where  he  sits,  and  is  gone 

He  gets  up  and  follows  her  out,  still  obeying  that  uncon- 
trollable  .mpulse.     It  is  too  late  for  heï  tp  be  out  aloneTe 

Baymouth  are  sonietimes  about 


^  Ae  doernof  turn  Mek lo  the  town.    She  goes^stra^hl 

99^  on,  with  »mc  amoBi^  în  hi»  miàd,  but  with  the  im 

>   ...  i 


Aàr 


V4 


KMINE'S  KNIGHT. 


Btronger  faùttnct  that  she  is  unprotecled,  and  Ûut  it  iiUi 
place,  uoobseçyed,  to  take  care  of  her 

She  reaches  the  station,  lighted,  and  fiUed  with  staring 
loafers.  Many  eyes  turn  upon  her,  and  O'SuUivaâ  can  lee 
hei  shrink,  and  tremble  in  sudden  terror.    Instantly  he  is  by 

her  side.  M, 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  says,  talfing  off  his  hat,  '  can  I.bc  of 
•ny  service  to  you  hère  ?  Ifs  not  a  pleasant  place  fo'  a 
lady  to  be  in  alone." 

She  tums  to  him  and  catches  his  arm  with  a  look  he  nevei 
4)ïgets,  a  look  of  infinité  trust,  and  welcome,  and  relief. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  says,  "  is  it  you,  monsieur  ?  Yes,  I  want  a 
ticket  for  New  York.     I  am  going  away." 

For  an.instant  he  stands  mute  with  amaze,  looking  at  her. 
She  sees  the  look  and  answers  it,  a  spasm  of  pain  crossing 
her  colorless  face. 

«'Oh,  it  seeras  strange,  I  know,  alone  at  night,  but  i 
cannot  help  it.  Something  has  happened,  something  very 
unpleasant,  monsieur^  ai)d  4  must  go.  Do  get  the  ticket; 
it  is  almost  time  Ç6r  the  traJn  to  start." 

The  perceptive  faeu^s  ot  the  man  are  keen  ;  instantly 
he  knows  that  she  is  flying  from  her  grandmother's  house  to 
retum  no  more.  Instantly,  also,  his  résolve  is  taken— she 
shall  not  go  alone. 

"  Sure,  isn't  it  the  most  fortunate  thing  ii.  the  world,"  he 
says,  cheerfully,  "that  businesîs  is  taking  me  up,  too,  hot- 
foot,  this  very  night  !  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  life  to  be  of  use  to  you  on  the  journey,  and  ye  know  me 
long  enough.  Mademoiselle,  and  will  do  me  the  honor,  l'm 
tore,  to  command  me  in  any  way  I  can  be  of  service  to  you. 
It's  proud  and  happy  l'U  be  if  ye'U  only  trust  me  just  as  if 
ye  had  knpwn  me  ail  my  life." 
--  Ste  letAs  up  JB-his  face,  and  with  a  ac  Iden,  swift  «m^ 
Cfen  lifts  his  hand  to  her  lips. 

The  dark,  upraised  eyes  are  fiiU  M.  tears  ;  and  the  tean 


MEIIfS'S  KNIGBT. 


Vi\ 


«t  it  h  Ui 

rith  staring 
an  caD  lee 
tly  he  ia  by 

can  I.be  o( 
place  fo*-  a 

»k  he  nevei 
relief, 
s,  I  want  a 

king  at  her. 
lin  Crossing 

light,  but  i 
ething  very 
the  ticket; 

1  ;  instantly 
r's  house  tu 
taken — she 

!  world,"  he 
ip,  toOy  hot- 
:st  pleasure 
'c  know  me 
honor,  l'tn 
irice  to  you. 
ne  just  as  if 

I  f  inft  eino 


^' 


id  the  teart 


and  the  ?ight  touch  of  the  lips  move  hiia  greatly.     Th4\ 
stand  by  theniselves,  no  pne  near  to  wonder  or  see. 

"Monsieur,  I  think  the  good  God  naust  hâve  sent  yoà  te 
me  in  my  trouble.  For  I  ara  in  trouble,  and  I  trembled  at 
tht  thought  of  this  night-joumey  alone.  Now  I  am  not 
afraid  ;  you  are  with  me,  and  ail  is  well.' 

"Stay  hère  "  O'SuUivan  says,  "and  I  will  get  the  «ckets. 
Oh,  then,"  he  adds,  inwardly,  "  may  the  curse  of  the  crowi 
fall  on  whoever  has  brought  the  tears  and  the  trouble  to  thaï 
sweet  face  I  Didn't  I  ever  and  always  distrust  that  soft 
spoke^  young  Durand^and  don't  I  know  that  it's  some 
devihnent  of  his  that  has  brought  this  upon  her  I  Wasn't  il 
the  lucky  thing  ail  out  that  I  foUowed  heir  into  the  chapcl 
this  evening  I  '* 

He  procures  two  tickets,  writes  out  a  brief  telegram  foi 

'     the  office,  to  be  dispatched  next  morning  :  «'  Called  away 

Mnexpectedly.     Back  in  a  few  days."     Then  he  returns  to 

Reine,  and  has  just  time  to  put  her  in  a  palace  car  befora 

.  the  train  starts. 

She  is  very  tired.  The  fatigue  of  the  preceding  night, 
Uie  mental  strain,  the  long  fast,  hâve  utterly  exhausted  her. 
She  sinks  into  one  of  the  large,  softly-cushioned  chairs,  and 
falls  asleep  almost  instantly. 

O'SuUivan  sits  near,  ostensibly  reading,  but  he  drops  his 
paper  and  looks  at  her  in  pity  and  wonder,  as  she  st^^eps 
deeply  arifl  quietly,  Uke  a  spent  child.    The  sinall,  dusk 
fcce  looks  singularly  childish  in  sleep.     Now  and  then  a  sob 
catches  her  breath,  as  if  the  sorrows  of  her  waking  hours  fo!- 
lowed  her  even  into  dreamland.     What  is  it  ail  about  ?  he 
wonders.      Does  Longworth  know?      O'SuUivan  lises  his 
.    chieî;  but  he  has  never  liked  him  less  than  as  Reine  Lan- 
delle's  lover.     His  strongest  feeling,  as  he  sits  hère  near  her, 
^i»  one  of  intense  pleasure  and  pride  that  she  trusts  in  him  ar^ 
implicitly  as  though  he  wcre  her  bmther,  and  that  fiue  lu« 
dKwen  him  to  befriend  her. 


\-- 


% 


S76 


ffE/ATÈ'S  KNtGHl. 


I;? 


If  nature  had  added  six  or  seven  inches  to  ,|Mi  O'Sullivan 
âtature,  and  shown  better  taste  in  tlje  sélection  of  a-setof 
features,  this  narrative  might  never  hive  b'-^n  written.  The 
soûl  of  a  knight  dwèlt  in  this,  gentlehan's  body  ;  his  posfi 
bilities  were  infinité,  his  opportunities  few.  A  woman  ir 
distress  invariàbly  appealed  to  his  sympathies,  no  niattei  hc« 
old  or  ugly  that  woman  might  be.  In  his  chàracter  of  a  Ne« 
York  reporter  how  often  liad  he  nearly  got  his  hiead  broken 
by  Jnterfering  between  quarreling  husbands  and  wives — the 
wivfs  being  generally  thefirst  to  turn  upon  the  peace-mptker. 
Before  beauty  in  distress,  needit  be  said  {hatrisk  of  linib  or 
life  would  hâve  beén  the  raerest  bagatelle  ?  Yes,  the  possi- 
bilities  of  heroism  were  Sfc.-ong  in  the  O'Sullivan';  but  how 
is  a  little,  whiskerless  man,  with  a  rubicund  complexion 
and  a  turn-up  nose,  to  be  heroic  ?  If  Sijf  Galahad'  had  been 
ao  blighted,  would  he  ever  hâve  set  fojth  in  seàreh  of  th** 
Holy  Grail  ?  If  Sir  Launcelot  had  be^n  so  marred,  would 
ail  his  chivalry  and  brilliant  bravery  hâve  given  King  Arthur 
ground  for  the  D.  C.  ?  "The  chivalry  thàt  is  sublime  in  youi 
tall,  your  stately,  your  handsonie  cavalierj  sinks  to  the  ridicu- 
lous  in  a  sub-editor  of  five  feet  five.  Thç  instinct  was  there, 
but  nature  and  destiny  were  alike  against  ,it. 

"  fVhere  isthe  good  of  thinking  about  it  ?  "  more  than  once 
had  thought  Mr.  O'Sullivan,  with  an  impatient  sigh.  "  If  I 
were  wrecked  on  a  désert  islànd  with  her,  like  Charles  Reade'i 
transcendental  omadhaun,  and  we  lived  there  together  foi 
twcnty  years,  sure  l'd  be  no  nearer  her  caring  for  me  at  the 
eiul  than  at  the  beginring.  She  would  let  me  gather  the 
cocoanuts,  and  fry  the  Ish,  and  build  her  a  but,  and  smile 
upon  nie  with  that  beautiful  smile  of  Iters  every  time,  and  say, 
'  Merci,  monsieur  '  in  that  sweet  voice — and  by  the  same 
token  ifs  the  sweetest  I  ever  heard  at  home  or  abroad  ;  bol 
fall  in  love  with  me — oh,  faith,  no  1  Still  I  think  the  lift 
nironld  be  pleasant^  and  upon  me  consdence  l'd  exc}«'^g(t~ 
flb/t  Pk€mix  office  for  it  any  daj." 


'fi 


\ 


fi/!/JVS'S   KfftCHt. 


m 


f. 


Neither  by  inclination  noi  constitution  was  tue  O  Sullivan 
a  sentimental  or  romantic  man— very  much  the  reverse  in 
ài^  ;  but  Reine  Landelle's  dark,  lustrous,  Norman  eyes  had 
got  a  way  somehow  of  floating  before  hini  and  disturbing  his 
peacî  of  mind,  after  a  fashion  quite  without  précèdent  in  hit 
expérience  cf 'ladies'  eyes.     Was  he  falling  in  love  i>    He 
*did  not  know  ;  his  appetite  and  spirits  were  not  impaired  to 
any  serions  extent,  and  thèse  he  had  always  understood  w?re 
Uie  symptoms  ;  nevertheless,  she  was  soinething  différent  to 
him  from  aU  the  rest  of  the  worid.     There  was  a  strong  bond 
of   friendship  between   him  and   Longworth;   he  admired 
prodigiously  the  superior  talents  of  his  chief;  there  were  few 
of  life's  good  gifts  he  woyld  hâve  grudged  him,  but  when  hia 
engagement  to  Reine  was  made  known,  he  came  very  near 
it.    What  the  feeling  was  in  O'Sullivan's  case  who  is  to  say  ? 
It  would  hâve  been  love,  deep  and  true,  strong  and  tendèr 
in  a  taller,  handsomer,  more  dignified  man. 

For  Reine— ah,  well  I  Rein&  liked  him  cordially,  and  trust- 
ed  him  implicitly  by  instinct,  and  wiUiout  knowi^g  why.  She 
had  always  a  frank  smile  of  welcome  for  the  good-humored, 
round-faced,  rather  elderly  young  man,  whose  bald  forehead 
«he  looked  down  upon  every  Sunday  from  the  choir,  and 
who  usually  walked  home  with  her  after" service.  That  he 
could  fall  in  love  with  her,  that  he  could  fall  in  love  with  an, 
one,  was  a  fiinny  idea  that  nevèr  entered  her  head. 

She  slept  ail  night.  The  train  flew  on,  and  .«  his  seat 
O'SuUivan  dozed  fitfully  and  at  intervais.  His  profession  had 
rendered  night-work  of  any  sort  second  nature^  owls  and 
newspaper  men  being  always  at  their  briskest  when  the  rest 
of  the  world  virtuously  sleeps.  It  was  only  when  the  train 
went  thundering  into  a  station  that  the  hut  bub  around  hei 
fally  awoke  Reine.    She  sat  up  with  a  startled  look  to  meel 

tfac  frienily,  reassuing  face  of  her  companion. L^ 

•  WTiere  are  we  ?"  sfie  asks.     "  Hâve  I  been  asleep  ?  " 
"  We  are  in  New  York,  and  it  is  a  beautiful  sleep  ye  hav. 


'.•%'■' 


y* 


MM/NX' S  KNIGBT. 


J^  of  it  ali  night,"  replies  Mr.  O'Sullivan,  and  riiec  tuxi 
proffere  his  artn.  Reine  takes  it,  and  steps  out  into  the  noir) 
itatipn  still  half  bewildered. 

^  "  Thit  way.  ma'araselle — we'U  find  a  hàck,  and  ifs  luck.» 
we  hâve  no  trunk  to  detain  as.    Is  there  any  particular  place/ 

"No,"  Reine  says  in  a  distressed  voice,  "  I  do  not  kno» 
wherç  to  go.    Oh,  what  would  i  ever  hâve  donc,  monsieur,  " 
ff  1  had  not  met  you  ?  " 

"  Then  l'il  just  take  you  to  a  hôtel  for  the  présent,  and 
when  we  hâve  had  breakfast  in  comfort  and  quiet,  we'll  step 
ont  and  look  about  us.  If  you  conid  only  make  up  your . 
miâd  tolet  me  know  what^you  mean  to  do,  maybe  I  could 
be  more  usefui  to  you.  If  it's  Mr.  Durand  ye  want  ^o 
find " 

"  No,  no,"  Reine  interrupts,  "  oh,  no  I  I  never  wânt  to 
bee  Léonce  again.  Monsieur,  how  very  strangr  ail  this 
must  seem  to  you,  I  know  ;  and  you  bave  been  so  good  a 
friend  to  me — Mon  Dieu  l  how  good,  that  I  must  tell  you 
why  I  hâve  run  away.  For  you  know  I  hâve  run  away,  do 
you  not  ?  No  one  in  the  world  knows  I  am  hère.  Oh,  ] 
fear,  I  fear,  you  must  think  very  badly  of  me  for  this."  * 

"Mademoiselle,"  responds  Mr.  O'SuUivan,  brusquely, 
"  that  is  nonsense.  I  could  not  think  badly  of  you  or  any- 
thit^  you  might  do,  if  I  tried.  I  don't  want  to  know  why 
you  iiave  come — I  know  what  it  must  be  like,  living  witb 
that  high  and  n^ighty  old  Juno,  your  grandmother.  I  only 
wonder  you  hâve  stood  it  so  long.  Don't  say  one  word, 
Ma'amselle  Reine  ;  càn  I  not  see  that  It  distresses  you,  and 
am  I  not  ready  to  tal^e  your  wprd  forât,  when  you  say  you 
had  to  come."  \t 

"  You  are  gênerons,"  she  says,^î>rokenly,  and  she  tliinki 

with  a  pang  how  différent  ail  might  hâve  been  if  the  mao 

who  professed  to  love  her  had  trusted  her  like  this  ;  "  but  I 

^rast^iryôa     Madame  Windsor,  as  yiu  know,  alwBys  ^ 

Uked  M.  Durand." 


«. 
1 


"^ 


KEWB'S  rSÎGHT.  379 

•  More  betoken,  some  others  of  vt  did  the  «ibie,"  uy& 
inwardly,  Mr.  O'SuUivan. 

"The  night  before  last,"  pursues  Reine,  still  in  that  agi 
tated  voice,  "some  one— some  man  forced  an  entran«e  in  te 
4c  bouse  and  stole  a  lai^e  sum  of  money.  '  My  grand- 
MOther  suspects  and  accuses  Léonce,  she  also  accuses  ine 
ol  being  bis  accomplice.  She  said  some  very  bittertnd 
cruel  things tome— thingsso  bitter  and  cruel  that  I  can 
aevei  forget  them.  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  êver  forgive, 
•nd  80  I  came  away.  I  could  not  stay— I  was  called  a  thief 
— my  father,  my  dear  dead  father  was  called— oh  I  she  waa 
cruel,  cruel,  cruel  I  "  ;;.'  *    • 

She  buries  her  face  in  her  hands  and  breaks  down  for  the 
M  time  in  a  véry  passion  of  sobs.  O'Sùllivan  Ustens  in 
fiery  wrath. 

"The  old  catamaran  I  the  oH  witch  of  Kndor  1  Oh  I  t^en 

may  it  corne  back  hot  and  heaVy  on  herself,  and  may  I  live 

to  see  it  I     But,>iMademoiselle  Reine— sure  ye'll  pardon  me 

\  for  naming  him— wasH^t  there  Longworth,  and  as  ye  are  en- 

gaged  ought  you  not  to  hâve  seen  him  and  told  him  befoie 

you  left.     He  would  hâve  takenyyour  part  against  her " 

He  sto^s  as  Reine  looks  u^l^àsh  of  scorn  drying  the 
teara  in  her  eyes.  f  '  ^ 

"  He  take  my  part  I-  -he  my  fi|^nd  1     May  Heaven  defen»? 

me  from  such  friends  I     Monsieur,  he  knew,  and  took  side 

with  her  against  me  ;  he  believes  me  to  be  a  liar  and  a  thief 
>  Oneday  1  may  learn  t»  forgive  her— she  is  old  and  preju 

Jiced,  and  never  liked  mç  ;  but  him— monsieur,  I  will  nevei 

forgive  your  frieîid  my  whole  life  long," 

"No«r,  by  the  Lord  Harry!"  cries  OTSullivan  with  flash- 

ing  eyes,  "if  any  one  else  of  ail  the'world  had  told  me  thii 

of  Longworth,  I  couldn't  baye  beiioired  It.     Is  the  man  mad 
Jo  doubt  you  ?    Oh  1  upon  ng^-  coLs*âei  ce,  this  is  a  bumin»-- 

ibune  ail  out  I  "  ,' 


But  Reine  is  ^wtng  calm  agab  ;  \\.\,  tears  are  dried,  tn* 


/ 


!  V 


S96 


MKINM'S^  KNIGHT. 


(hc  fîerce  iiidignation  hiu  died  in  slow  Badnesi  oat  of  ha 

cy<^«-  ■    . 

"  No,"  she  says,  eamestly,  "  no,  monsieur,  you  must  nol 
quarrel.with  your  friend  for  riié  ;  you,  must  not  Jell  hi^  jo« 
know  anything  of  me — why  do  /ou  laugh ?" 

"  Tnily,  mademoiselle,  that  would  be  a  jiflicult  matt«^ 
Tell^rn  I  know  nothing  of  you.1  Sure  wagn't  there  twent) 
if  thei'e  was  one  on  the  platform  When  we  left,  and  wo'n'jt  il 
be  over  the  town  before  hoon  to-day  ?  The  man  or  waman 
who  will  J^eep  a  secret  in  Baymouth  will  hâve  something  to 
do,  uponlne  faith."  ^ 

She  looks  at  liim  in  silence,  wistful,  distressed,  perplexed 

"  Was  it  wrong  for  you  to  conie  with  me  ?  "  she  asks. 

"Wrongl  If  it  was»  I  would  like  somebody  to  tell  me 
whit  is  right.  If  I  had  a  sis  ter,"  says  the  O'SulUvan,  with 
rather  a  heightened  coîor,  "  circunistanccd  as  you  were,  and 
obliged  to  run  for  it,  wouldn't  I  be  proud  a'hd  thankful  if  any 
friend  of  hers  or  mine  would  step  to  the  fore  and  take  charge 
Qf  hèr  ?.  It's  not  thè  tbings  that  set  the  tongiies  of  gossips 
-  wagging  "lost  that  are  most  wrong-r-you'll  find  that  out  ii 
you  live  long  enqugh.  iîut  this  is  ail  a  waste  oî  time,  and 
we  are  close  upon  the  hôtel.  Just.tell  me  what  your  plans 
are,  mademoiselle  ;  there  isn't  an  inch  bf  New  York  I  don't 
knôw  better  than  pay  prayers,  and  t^ere's  no  télling  the  service 
I  njay  be  of  to  you.     Is  it  your  intention  tb  remain  hère  ?  " 

"  Can  I  do  befter,  monsieur  ?  "  It  is  a  great  city,  and  in 
A  great  city  it  is  always  easiest  to  earn  one's  living,  is  it  not  ? 
And  I  hâve'  come  to  earn  my  own  living." 

He  looks  d^X.  her  in  pity.  Earn  her  own  li.'^jg  !  So  young 
•o/riendleas,  so  ignorant  of  the  world  she  has  come  to  face 
and  fight  I  ,  Oh,  for  the  power  to  win  her  from  them  ail,  to 
•hield  her  forever  from  life's  caro,  anl  Urugg'es.  îind  work  : 
It  i$  amomenf^tforç^he  speaks.  I 

«Your  thîhd  is  fd^madç  up  ? 
iatend  to  letum  to  Baymouth  ?  " 


J 


Be"  asks.      *  Y^.»:!  Mo  nor 


f 


J 


twent) 
«ro'n'l  h    j 
womao 
thing  to 


»EM9*s  KmGm. 


3«i 


"Neycr,  raon|ieur.     I  will  die  first  I  "   - 
"  Not  even  if  Longworth " 

"Donot^eWml"  s»è  cries,  her  eyes  lighing  ,a.«co.  ^ 
.      âWy.     «J  I  fiTver  «rant  to  hear  hi<name.  or  see^hi»  face  aa 
•ong  as  I  hve  I  ".  ■^^  .      ,  ««-c  «■ 

"  *  ^«/^"f  P'^^Jo'V"     Yes,  it  is  quite  truc  that  up  toihe. 

ÎTi;,''  V   u    ''*"  *""  *^^^^'  '^^^^  '^^  ^hief  ;  but  the  glow 
^     --al  fill,  his  heart  as  he  listens  to  this  outburst  against  hini. 
«  not  one  of  resentment      ^  fhen  may  I  ask  what  you  pro^ 
pose  to  do  ?  •*  *^ 

"Icould  teach  French,"  she  says,  the  anxious  tone  re^ 
tummg,  «  or  German.  I  could  teach  vocal  or  Instrumental 
music.     I  could  be  a  govérnesf  " 

Mr.  O'Sullivan  looks  more  than  doubtf^ 

"I   do   not  think   governesses  are  greaUy  in  demand  in 

N^  York  and  the  màrket  is  dru^ed  wUh  maie  and  fe- 

maie  teachers  of  French.  and  German.-and  music.  ^    And 

hen.  umler  the  n,ost  favorable  circumstances,  it  takes  time 

•  to  get  pupils.     I  jmve  thought  of  something »  he  pauses 

d:rogrry;^^^  ''^"'^'""^;  """  -^^^-^-  -^^  •; 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is-do  not  hesitate.   "l  wiU  do  anythina 

-inything  that  is  safe  and  honest  and  respectable,  for  a  livin/' 

I  admire  your  spirit.  .nademoiselle-jf  s  the  sort  to  ItX 

tlong  with;  but  then.  sm-e.  youjre  proud.  if  ^ou'U,  pardon       ' 

my  saying  so '  >      *  ,  f  ««uu 

She  smites  faintly.  -/ ^' 

"  I  am^  not  proud  about  work;  'tiyfme  and  see.     And  anv 
plan  you  propose  will  be  good,  I  am\sure.     Whatisit?» 

Well,  then,  ;t.s  this."  say^  Mr.  O'Sullivan.  «1  Hâve  a 
friend.  Sl,e  is  a  townswoman  of  my  own,  and^he  fceeps^ 
m.  hne^r  estab48hment  on  Grand  street  It  is  not  a  fa^hion- 
^e  ioc4hty.and  shes  notafashionabîë  WQSwn,^utra:bett«^^^ 
créature  ne»=er  diew  the  brealh  of  life.  She'J  1,e  gc,<,d  to 
rou,  and  that'»  what  ye  want  ;  she  J  let  you  Uve  wi'h  h< 


..  i 


WÊnm. 


S 


% 


•^ 


J«i 


ÂBINS'S  KNIGHT. 


and  take  care  of  you,  and  b^  company  foi  you,  and  keq^ 
yoù  from  dying  of  loneliness  in  this  big  city.  You  could  ad- 
vertise  for  the  pupils  if  you  liked,  and  meantime  you  would 
hâve  a  home,  a  salary,  and  something  to  do,  and  sure  !hat 
tame  is  a  bfessing  whenr  we're  misérable.  If  you  like, 
ma'ainselle,  l'il  go  around  and  see  her  after  breakfaat,  and 
hear  what  she  says." 

Reine  clasps  her  hands  gratefuUy. 

**  Monsieur,  it  is  the  very  thing.  Oh,  how  kind  an<: 
thoughtfui  you  are  ;  and  what  hâve  I  done  to  deserve — how 
can  I  ever  prove  my  gratitude  ?  'jy  , 

"  That  you  trust  me  is  ail  I  ask.  Hère  we  are,  mademoi- 
selle, and  l'm  not  sorry,  for  a  long  night's  ride  makes  a  man'i 
appetite  mightypainful." 

Reine  is  shown  to  a  room  where  she  can  bathe  her  face 
and  arrange  her  hair.  Then  cornes  break  fast,  and  as  she  sitf 
opposite  bright  Mr.  O'SuUivan,  she  thinks  of  that  last  hôte 
breakfast  five  munths  ago,  and  her  heart  swiçlls  with  bitter- 
ness  and  indignation.  How  cruel,  how  merciless  he  has 
been,  how  unlike  tliis  nian  who  sits  beside  her. 

He  has  a.sked  her  to  marry  him,  but  he  is  ready  to  distrust 
her  every  word,  to  place  the  worst  construction  on  her  every 
action.  He  has  refused  to  believe  in  her — he  has  said  things 
to  her  never  to  be  forgotten  or  forgiven.  And  on  that  night 
when  he  had  coine  and  cast  hei  off  with  scorn  and  insuit,  she 
had  sat  aud  tliou^lu  him  noble,  gênerons,  and  good.  Ând 
he  is  to  ail  the  rest  of  the  wc*ld— to  her  alone  he  can  be 
baish,  and  unjiist,  and  without  pity. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Mr.  O'Suilivan  sallies  forth, 
And  rides  down  to  Grand  street,  to  the  fashionable  establish- 
ment df  Mrs.  M.  Muri)hy.  The  M.  stands  for  Michael,  a 
good  and  euphonious  baptismal ,  but  Michael  has  départed, 
and  his  reliet  tatfaer  «oks  ifc  Murplty  and  mtUinery,  takes- 
in  conjunctiou,  go  badly  enough — the  "Michael,"  if  for  ♦%! 
DjMo  her  cultomers,  would  damn  the  business  ^togethc 


i 


M^-:.- 


X^J^TA'S  KNICHT, 


3«3 


tjdc«B^ 


l 


O-Sulhvan,  after  the  preliminaries  of  friendly  greetiLK      "  \ 
w«;t  yc  to  take  an  apprentice.     Shc's  a  Frencf  young  lad 
-fron  Paris  ail  the  way,  and  sure  that  îs  au  offer  ye  cud. 

and  r..W,  you„g  Parisienne,  MadJ|sell.  Reine  SL 
ddle.    wouldn't  that  sound  well,  no^n  the  half-ye^ 
orculars?    But,  then,  I  forgot,  the  name  mustn'Tap^ 
ït ,  a  great  secret  Mrs.  Mutphy;  she's  of  one  of  the^* 

«noney;   but  she  has  an  old  witch  of  a  grandmother  that 
a«.nt  couldn-t  put  up  with.  and  the  end  ofTis  she  hL  ^ad 

l?c"  T*.  '''  "T'  '°  «"  ^-^^  ^«-^   ï^-nch  and, 
7Z~U     l      r'  *  ^*'«"^^'  "°'  »"  accomplishmenu 
going    she  hasn't  got  ;  but  says  I  ïo  her,   'There's  Mrs 
Murphy.  she's^  friend  and  compatriot  of  »;  own.  and  iî^  . 
French  young  lady  of  tasteand  élégance  sh'e  has  been  lo^k 
mg  for  Uns  many  a  day.     Ifs  delighted  she'U  be  to  get  ye 
111  go  to  her;  says  I,  •  this  very  minute.'     And  hère  I  am,* 

X  ;^^h"y?  ^°"'"  ""'-'  '-'  ^^-  -^«^  ^-  «- 

m'iT:  m"'  k"'  rX""  *"  **"""  '"^'  ^''  O'Sullivan," 
2«  Mr^  Murphy,  foldmg  her  hands  across  her  counter. 
and  lookmg  at  hira  shrewdly,  with  twinkhng  eyes.     "  Is  thi 
»o.ne  dev.l.„ent  ye're  up  to  ?     Pd  not  put  ft  pist  ye.     OH 
there  a  young  lady  in  the  case?     If  there  ,s,  none  of  you. 
nonsense  now,  but  tell  me  aU  about  her  " 

"May  I  never.  Mrs.  Murphy,  if  ifs  nôt  the  gospel  truth  ' 
asseverates.A^r.  O'SulhVan,  with  eamestness.  andLre^p^r 
^gins  and  relates,  so  far  as  he  may,  the  history  of  mÏc 
Re^ne  LandeUe'sflightfrom  friends  and  nome.^hat  Mr. 


ES  m!  ZV  V:'  ^  J"^'-->"«  embellishing  of  naked 
a^tl     .,  S^"'  ''"  "'"^'"  dramatically  and  elo 

tiocntly,  ,Uere  can  be  no  doubt.     Mrs.  Murphy'.  sympathie 


-tf 


384 


REmS'S  KNIGHT. 


tre  aioused  as  a  great  many  interjected  "  Oh  I  the  craytiue  t 
"  See  that,  now  1  "    "  Ah,  then  the  Lord  look  down  on  her  1  " 
betray. 

Mrs.  M.  Murphy  Is  a  lady  of  tender  heart  and  boundlesi 
good  nature.  She  owes  Mr.  O' Sullivan,  as  she  owns, 
"  uany's  the  good  turn,"  and  is  well  disposed  to  oblige  him. 
That  Mlle.  Landelle  knows  absolutely  nothing  of  the  £Jt  of 
n^illinery  i^  a  drawback.  **  But  sure,  them  French  ladies  do 
always  hâve  the  hoight  of  taste,"  is  what  she  adds  reflectively. 
And  until  mademoiselle  has  acquired  the  rudiments,  it  will 
not  be  fair  to  ask  Mrs.  Murphy  to  remunerate  her,  and  imme- 
diately  a  pecuniary  transaction  passes  between  the  friends, 
»hich  elicts  from  the  lady  the  admiring  remark  : 

"  Sure,  then,  Mr.  O'SuUivan  it's  yourself  hasn't  a  stingy 
bone  in  your  body,  and  faith,  l'il  bite  my  tongue  out  before 
I  ever  drop  the  laste  hint  of  it.  Maybe  then  'tis  somethin' 
more  than  a  friend  this  same  young  lady  is  to  ye." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Mrs.  M.,"  says  O'Sullivan,  hastiljr. 
•*  Don't  ever  breathe  a  word  like  that  in  her  hearing.  Mind, 
she's  none  of  your  common  sort,  but  a  lady  born  and  breil, 
and  only  under  a  cloud  for  the  présent.  Take  care  of  hei 
fls  if  she  were  your  own  daughter,  and  l'U  never  foiget  youi 
good  nature  in  this  as  long  as  I  live." 

Thev  shake  hands  across  the  counter,  and  he  départs. 
Mrs   Marphy  looks  after  him  until  he  is  out  of  sight. 

"  It's  a  better  world  it  would  be  if  there  were  more  of 
foar  K>rt.  Mr.  O'Sullivan,"  she  soliloquizes.  "You're  a 
ihon  man,  but  niay  I  never,  if  you  haven't  a  heart  the  size 
of  a  buihe  basket." 

O'Sulliv^an  retums  to  Reine,  )ubilant  with  success.  Mn. 
Miuphy  is  only  too  delighted  to  receive  a  French  assistant , 
the  will  pay  hfx"  a  stipend  of  eight  dollars  per  werk  for  tVe 
pfêflent,lïn3  more^âs Ifie  becomes  prôïîdënrin  ihê  profe» 
lion.  She  has  a  spare  bedroom  that  will  do  admirably  for  the 
ftMiog  la«1y,  and  di«  it  to  gc  to  her  n«w  home  this  veiy  dajf. 


«uld  not  a,.l"  '"°""'"-»  ^«-  "d  happier  home,  you 

•iU  pmy  foryou  >,i,;^'i  '^''  J™"'  I  -Il  <W"k  of  ,-o„.  1 
Th.!.  ho«,e.  IT         ''°"\?'°  '"^  ■■«  ■°»8'  «"•  "ost. 

She  gives  him  a  grateful  look. 

17 


:  If 


386 


HARIE  SPEAKS 


CHAPTER  XXV  JI. 


UARIK   SPEAKS. 


I  r  tl  u  window  of  a  private  parlor  c  i  Boston  hotel, 
Mlle.  Marie  Landelle  sits  gazing  out  at  the  throng 
passing  and  repassing  uninterruptedly  up  and  down 
Tremont  street.  She  is  dressed  in  white,  her  abundant  yel- 
low-red  hair  falls  in  a  crimped  glistening  showef  to  her  slen- 
der  waist.  She  looks  fair  enough,  lovely  enough,  serene 
enough  for  some  white  Greuze  goddess,  as  she  sits.  So 
thinks  Frank  Dexter,  coming  hastily  in  with  a  bundle  of  pap- 
ers  and  letters,  pausing  in  the  doorway  to  gaze  and  admire. 

See  her  as  often  as  he  may,  her  fresh,  fair  loveliness  comei 
ever  upon  him  as  a  surprise.  At  a  little  distance  Mrs.  Dex 
ter  reclines  on  a  lounge,  half  asleep. 

The  yachting  trip  has  been  incontinently  eut  short  by  th« 
■ea-sickness  of  mIss  landelle.  On  the  second  day  out  shi 
declared  pathetically  she  must  be  brought  back,  or  die.  Th* 
trip  to  Georgia  by  f  ea  was ,  Aerefore  given  up,  to  Frank', 
profound  regret  ;  bWîThrhetliejr  Dy  sea  or  land,  so  long  as  Marie 
was  his  traveliqg  cowpanion,  e^h  was  Elysium,  and  she  tht 
uiost  beautiful  mortal  in  it.         ^ 

«'  Letters,  Frank  ?  "  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  riaing  on  her  elbow. 
**  Any  for  aie,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  One  froiu  Baymouth,  from  Miss  Hariott,  I  opine.  Nont 
for  you.  Miss  Marie.  A  paper  for  me,  in  Totty  Sheldon'i 
writlng— a  Phénix,  I  suppose.     As  if  any  one  safely  eut  of 


Etayinouth  ever  cared  to  hear  of  it  again." 
-"  1  care  a  great  dcal,"  says  Marie,  with  one  of  he»  faim 
"  Read  us  the  Phénix  news,  Mr.  Frank." 


«ni^ss. 


\'fX. 


MARIE    SrtAKS. 


W 


a  her  elbow. 


of  he*  faint 


^«^/  and  what  is  Z        î    ,  .*'^'"'  *^"  '^''■''''-    "  ^cs.  a 
«  Blood  r  ,     '"^'■''''''  '"  ^haracters  of  bloo<l  ?  " 

«i-ten    o'  :,^s  t>:ï'^  ""'î'n  '''^"  ''  '''''  -^---"e  ; 
.  TU    :f  *7-  ~*'^^J'  spare  no  capitals  in  the  iR«^»,v  «m 

dtedly  reads  on.      ■  *   ""'  "^  *-"  ■•"  '"'"•     "«nk  „. 
nighl  committtd     Th.  ^nd  la^v^bidrng  town,  was  last 

«nd  doU^  """^  ^"^  """«'  "f  "'«^'J-  '»o  thou    , 

w«d„  *„„«,  ho,  he  entered  and  e^c^p^ed.  •""  "^ 

-,  en.„genVrii:re  *::;b^%t  '"='^"*  '- 

•nth  chlorofomi  eo  her  „^,^,       a  '^"«'  ""nrated 

0'  !l^"hXn^:^r  T"^"  ^'-«-'«isn-.  who 
'own,  a,  on  .he  ™S  fer":""  f  '  «"«"ion  in  o^  ,„i« 

nipri  on,  ^iri,'".".""  »'«."?«  "«-.■.eanlof.    „J. 


JOErioM  police  rtl  a»  „™   "^     ■«tnj.eardof^l,  Ji 

p««or  of  sida^::  s;^"s„!n''*  **•■«• 

justice"  woeiy  and  bnng  him  to  summaiy 

The  p^,er  d«,p,  fi,.„,  p^^^.,  ,^„^  ^  ^.^^^^     ^^^  ^^ 


à.ff&.'i^iJ^ 


% 


388 


MARIE  SPEAKS. 


Et  Man£  ana  sees  ner  sitting  in  her  chair,  iv.ilte  ai  aaties,  stai  ' 
ing  at  hiin  in  stooy  silence  while  he  reads. 

"  This  is  horrible  !  "  he  says,  in  an  agitated  voice  ;  "  there 
must  be  sonie  strange  inistake.     They  can't  niean  Durand." 

*'  Oh  !  dear  me,"  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  sitting  suddenly  \x\*- 
right,  and  gazing  at  her  letter  ;  "  this  is  most  distressirg.  I 
must  read  you  this,  niy  dear  Miss  Landelle,  foi-  she  tells  va* 
to,  and  it  is  really  quite  shocking.     Listen  : 

'  •*  Bavmouth,  Oct.  loth. 

"  Mv  Dbar  Mrs.  Dkxtbr  :'  I  write  to  you  in  the  utmost  distress  and 
anxiety,  in  the  hope  that  you  may  receive  this  before  your  departure  fc 
the  South.  I  fear  Miss  Landelle  must  return  immedia.ely  instead  ol 
àccompanying  you,  as  you  mentioned  she  intende»!  to  do.  Many  surpris- 
Ing  and  most  painful  things  hâve  occurred  hère  during  the  past  thre« 
4*y8.  In  the  first  place,  Mrs.  Windsor's  house  bas  been  broken  into, 
«nd  she  has  been  robbed — by  whom  is  iiot  positively  known,  but  rumot 
thaaùgh  the  town  says  M.  Léonce  Durand.  This  is  certain — he  left 
Baymouth  very  early  on  the  morning  following  the  theft,  and  has  not 
since  relurned.  The  [wlice  are  at  présent  on  his  track.  Mrs.  Windsor, 
tyrannical  and  unjust  as  usual,  accused  Mlle.  Reine  of  being  accessory  to 
the  fact,  in  language  so  violent  that  the  poor  child  was  obliged  to  leave 
her  house  forever.  She  departed  late  at  night.  She  was  seen  at  the 
■tatiott  in  company  with  Mr.  O'SulIivan.  '  Mr.  O'SuUivan  took  two 
tickets  for  New  Vork,  and  traveled  with  her.  Ile  has  not  yet  retuiued 
•o  thruw  iiglit  upun  the  aiTair,  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  ail  Bayinouth 
is  loudly  talking.  But  even  Baymouth,  noted  for  its  evil  gossiji,  talks 
no  scandai  of  Reine's  departure  with  this  gentleman.  He  is  one  of  the 
exccptionable  people  who  do  things  with  impunity  it  would  be  ruin  for 
any  one  else  to  attempt.     He  has  undertaken  his  share  in  it  to  befriend 

her that  seeins  to  be  tacitly  understootl — as  he  has  often  bcfriended 

others.  Reine  is  doubtless  in  New  York,  and  does  not  intend  to  re- 
tnrn.  AU  this  you  had  bei-t  tell  her  iister,  and  let  her  return  if  she  sees 
\\..  I  say  nothing  of  my  own  feelings,  although,  loving  Reine  as  I  do, 
p«  caa  hardly  doubt  I  feel  it  deeply.  Hoping  this  will  reach  you  in 
tea^  I  renaiii,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,  Yours  faithfuUy, 

: "  Hkstkr  Hariott." 


There  was  a  brief  silence   of  consternation.     Mother  and 
ton  look  V  each  otl  «^r  i>erplexed  and  distresscd.     Marie  hai 


I^JtlS  SfiB^JtS. 


3«9 


:>nes,stai 

;  "iherc 
Durand." 
denly  ui>- 
issirg.  I 
s  tells  m* 


)ct.  loth. 

distress  and 
eparture  fo' 
y  instead  ol 
!any  surpris- 
le  pasf  thre« 
)roken  into, 
I,  bat  nimoi 
ûa — he  left 
and  has  nul 
rs.  Windsor, 
accessory  to 
jed  to  leavc 
seen  at  the 
a  took  two 
^et  returiied 
1  Baymouth 
jossrji,  talks 
is  one  of  the 
l  be  ruin  for 
t  to  befriend 
n  befriended 
itend  to  re- 
-n  if  she  secs 
eine  as  I  do, 
;ach  you  in 

I 

ARIOTT." 


lother  uid 
Marie  hai 


\|W!en  back  in  her  chair  with  one  faint,  solbmg  rr.  Jd  doe. 

ShJ  cLlTp'ear'''"r  ""'""'  «•'/-"  "oqi=,"„t, 

"^  scarcely  speaks  another  word  to  either     She  on^.  f«  i, 

cornes  to  tell  her  they  nay  start.    The  joumev  mil  be  1,,.>  , 
J^tJ'ZT,^"-    "^  ""<")' =P«aks  .he  whole  yav, 

.  de£,t^  ,  ""='•  '°°'''"°  P'*'^"''  '='""1=^  bu, 

b^ nr^fif  "r H:Ti  *.^  '■"'  ^"'  ""''-"■«"■= 
i^  1      r     T.,   ^         "®  "^  o'^f*^"  noticed  that  neculiii    • 

Loi  ?  k""  '"'  "^°'"''°"  ^-*^"d  M-e  lidelt 
«outh  and  chm-u  has  given  character  to  the  whole  flc^ 
but  he  has  never  seen  it  so  strongly  n^arked  as  now  ' 

Ihey  reach   Baymouth.     The   October  night,  chill   and 

-arry,  has  fallen-hghts  gle^  from  the  great  rln^e  of  th. 

VuKlsor  Mills.    As  Fmnk  is  about  to  givfthe  oX  to  h! 

Hone  Hot,se.  she  abrupUy  checks  him.  ***  '"* 

"No,  not  there."  she  says.  «  Mr.  Dexter,  where  am  I  most 
Uke^  to  see  yo„r  cousin,  Mr.  Longworth,  at  this  hour        A 
his  office  or  athisboarding-house?"  '     ^^ 


»o 


MAUtR  SPRAKS. 


"  I^et  us  tr)  the  office  ârst,  '  she  SAys,  wii  tne  youog  mai 
gives  the  orde  and  they  are  driven  to  tne  Phénix  building 
It  too  is  in  a  state  of  immense  illumination.  Dexter  geti 
ant,  goes  in,  a  id  retums  almost  iipmediately. 

"  Longwort  1  is  hère,  Mlle.  Marie  ;  I  will  take  yoi  up  te 
hisroom."  

She  pulls  the  vail  she  wears  over  her  face,  and  follow* 
Frank  up  a  long  flight  of  stairs  and  into  the  room  sacred  to 
OSullivan.  Fntnk  taps  at  another  door  and  Longworih's 
Toice  cklls  corne  in. 

"  It  is  I,  Larry,"  he  say»,  and  Longworth  tums  rounJ  frcra 
his  writing  and  looks  at  him.  "  Miss  Landelle  is  hère — has 
just  arrived  and  wishes  to  see  you.  Mademoiselle,  I  will 
wait  for  you  in  the  hack." 

She  puts  back  her  vail  and  advances. 

Longworth  rises,  something  of  surprise,  something  of  stem- 
ness,  a  great  deal  of  coldness  in  his  nianner.  He  is  uncou- 
scious  of  it.  If  he  has  thought  of  the  elder  sister  at  ail,  it  ia 
to  be  sorry  for  her,  and  yet  the  deep  anger  and  fesentment 
he  feels  shows  itself  in  his  manner  even  to  her.  ' 

"  Sit  down,"  he  says,  and  places  a  chair.  '«  I  suppose 
Miss  Hariott's  letter  reached  Mrs.  Dexter,  and  that  is  why 
you  are  hère.  She  told  me  she  had  written.  It  is  rather  a 
pity  your  pleasure  trip  sliould  be  eut  short  by  thèse  untoward 
events."  v 

There  is  a  touch  of  sarcasni  in  his  tone.  He  is  charactei 
reader  enough  to  know  that  Miss  Marie  Landelle  has  p 
tolerably  strong  share  of  selfishness,  and  will  feel  any  mis 
fortune  that  touches  lier  own  comfort,  keenly.  But  she  feeU 
this  far  more  than  he  is  disposed  to  give  her  crédit  for. 

"  Mr.  Longworth,"  she  says  carnestly,  *'  why  has  Reine 
|one?" 

"Miss  Land-lle,  need  you  ask?    Did  not  Miss  Flarotf 
Write  expliciil)    enongh  ?     Brcatisë^  Monsieur  cbiiiniittë^ 
the  robbery,  and  she  was  présent  at  ihe  time  ?  ' 


■■-  4*1 


MAXIA    ÎPMArs. 


irouQg  mat 
X  building 
)exter  geti 

ycu  up  U 

nd  foUowj 
1  sacred  to 
ongworlh's 

ounJ  frcni 

hère — has 

;elle,  I  will 


ig  of  stern- 
;  is  uncoii- 
at  ail,  it  is 
'esentment 

I  suppose 
hat  is  why 
is  rather  a 
;  untoward 

charactei 
L'Ile  has  p 
l  any  mis 
it  she  feeU 
:  for. 
lias  Reine 

»  Flarbtl 
:oniraittë? 


391 


KhT  ^*^l  **  **  *^"*  ^    ^«  ^°«  ">««"  to  «y  Reine  tided 
him  m  robbmg  Madame  Windsor  ?" 

"Mademoiselle,  thèse  questions  are  ver>-  DamfoL    Vn„ 
oblige  me  to  tell  the  truth.    Yes."  ° 

"  My  grandmother  believes  this  ?  " 
"Shedoes." 
•'  You  believe  this,  Mr.  Longworth  ?  " 

I  hâve  no  alternative,  Miss  Landelle." 
a«iS8tillforawhile,silentlylooking  at  him  as  i(  t,,^» 

of"«!^lS^!ti,'''  ^n'^*"^«  *  ""'<=  forward.the  flood 

Z^rr!  '  T'""  '    ^°"  ^^^^^  "y  -ter  to  m^ 
you--did  you  love  her  the  least  in  the  world  ?  "  ^ 

1  dechne  to  answer  that  question,  Miss  Landelle." 
Youneed  noV  she  says,  contemptuously;  «you  could 
not  love  any  one.     But  surely,  without  love,  yôu  St  hTve 
tmsted  her.     What  had  she  done  to  be  thought  a'fef ?^ 
ri.J      T  ^°"  "^'^  '"^"''"  "^''t'  "mademoiselle,  by  what 

^fv  T'^ï^  ^"  ^^  ^'^^^d  ^^"'^"d  as  a  robb  r  ?  - 

«n«    T  ,,        "^^"^  '"'^'^'"  P'"**^^""^  «"motion  in  her  tone- 

tehon.      Bu    that  you  should   doubt  Reine-believe    hei 

co  M         """r^^^   ^^^    '"^-^    bewilders    me       How 
could^any  one  look  in  her  face  and  believe  her  guilty  of  a^; 

'Mademoiselle,  we  leam  as  we  grow  older  'how  fair  lui 

" What  did  she  confess ?" 

"^  ^  silence,  by  her  refusai  and  inability  to  w«wer-= 
tne  questions  thaï  she  wa«  wifn  h.-       u      •_  »u»wer 

lobbety."  'vhmhe  coramitteti  thii 


•l..!^^ 


MAUtR  SPBAtrS. 


Matie  sttll  sits  ànd 'looks  a*^  hitn,  a  touch  3f  tcorn  in  ha 
bce  that  reminds  him  of  Eeine. 

**Bat  surely,  monsieur,  a  thief  would  not  stick  at  â  ie. 
If  she  could  steal,  or  aid  a  thief,  she  coule  tell  falsehoods  to 
fcreen  her  crime.  And  yet  you  say  she  preferried  standing 
■lent  to  speaking  falsely." 

"  I  do  not  prétend  to  understand  a  lady's  motives,"  Long- 
«rorth  sajrs,  impatiently  ;  "  at  least  she  would  not  betray  het 
lover." 

"  Reine  would  betray  no  one.  She  was  true  as  truth  itself 
— ^who  should  know  bettèr  than  I  ?  But  monsieur,  pardon 
my  curiosity  ;  why  do  you  say  her  lover  f^ 

"  Her  husband,  then,  if  you  prefer  it.  Her  secret  of 
course  is  no  secret  to  you."  ^ 

He  says  it  with  a  passionate  gesture  that  shows  her  the 
pain  this  self  repressed  man  is  sufTering,  in  spite  of  him.   She  - 
H8t(ïhs,  and  watches  him,  and  a  light  breaks  slowly  over  her 
hct.\ 

"Hîswifel"  she  repeats,  "Reine  the  wife  of  Léonce  1 
Oh  1  Mon  Dieu  !  what  a  strange  idea  !  Monsieur,  I  beg  of 
you,  tell  me  why  you  think  this  ?  Surely  she  has  nevei 
said  anything  that  could  make  you  think  so  extraordinary  a 
diing.  For  thé  whol^  world  Reine  would  not  tell  a  false 
hood."  ^ 

"And  this  would  be  a  falsehood ?  " 

"The  falsest  of  ail  falsehoods." 

"  And  yet  I  heard  his  own  lips  proclaim  it,  heard  him  c%A 
her  his  wife.     I.  chargea  her  with  it  and  she  did  not  deny."   - 

"She  did  not!  Oh!  my.sister,  even  I  hâve  not  known 
half  your  goodness.  Mr.  Longworth,  there  is  a  terrible 
mistake  hère  which  I  alone  can  clear.  Tell  me  the  exact 
worda,  if  you  remember  them,|^that  Léonce  spoke— foi 
bideed  I  cannot  understand  how  he  ever  cduld  hâve  called 
Tiifluiwile?'  ^ 

*•  I  remember   them   well,"  Longworth  stemly  anMren 


f 


r 

c 

.0 

l 

C4 


..'■t 


^.V.,,.f, 


r 


>'< 


n  in  ha 

at  à  ie, 

hoods  to 

standing 

^''Long- 
etray  het 

uth  itself 
r,  pardon 

«cret  of 

i  her  the 
[lim.  She 
over  her 

Léonce  I 

I  beg  of 

as   nevei 

rdinary  a 

11  a  false 


I  hini  çfût) 
deny."  " 
>t  known 
i  terrible 
;he  exact 
3oke — foi 
ve .  called 


âfAM/Jt  SfiÉjtJLS. 


m 


^a^detl^f^'^Tr^'""-^^  P'^^^^*-  «'-"'. 
g^d«u   He  was  «xated  that  n.ght-you  probably  remember 

™aLf\l  "7^°"  wereannoyed-and  cpnsequently  ofl 
Çuarf.  The  words  were  these-^  I  will  not  go.  I  had  t* 
nght  to  corne,  I  hâve  the  right  to  stay.     I  Jl,  J,  '  „  X 

eave  my  w,fe  to  bejBad*.  love  to  by  another  n,an.'     Cculd 
anythingbeplainer?"  ,  "'*^ 

r  ^"**f  °'*  ^'^^'l  no  more-not  Reine's  reply  ?  - 
I  heatd  no  more  ;  I  wished  to  hear  no  more.    The  follow- 
u.g  evemng  I  sought  out  yôur  sister,  upbraided  her  with  hlr 
falsity,  and  told  her  what  I  had  heard  " 
^JAnd  sheP-^Marie  asks,  clasping  her  hands.  "what  ^d 

"Notonewo,;<î.     Ut  me  do  your  sister  ^is  jusrice,  mB 

"Ohl"  Mare  «ays,  bitt^-ly,  "yn^  are  Àideed  wfthi^u'î pity 
or  raercy-you  are  indeed  a  steml&r  cruel  man.  My  Httfe 
éne  I  my  httle  oné  1  what  hâve  I  not  made  you  suffer-Iaî 

Ah  Rdntr  '"";  J'^^^  »^-«-tion.      And  Léonce  tlo 
Ah  Rçine  has  paid  dearl^  for  the  keeping  ^  a  secret.'» 

Secrets  are  hke  firebrands,  mademoiselle,  we  can't  ex 
pect  to  caro^  them  aboi^t  and  go  unscorched.     But  in  you, 
œmm«erât.on  for  your  sister,  are  you  not  talking  a  S 
^ Idly,  A1.SS  Landelle?    If  a  wife  weav=s  her  little  plo    to     ' 
^n^-nhemance,  and  fools  men  into  Wking  her  offers  o^ 

I  Jn^^r'-^"'' ^  '"*""  You' hâve  said  enough.  Reine 
Unde  le  .s  no  man's  wife  ;  she  is  pure,  and  true  and  inl 
cent  of  ail  wrong  as  an  angel." 


ansjren 


^     fn  hear,  what  my  own  eyes  see  ?  " 
If* 


C5/. 


}94 


MARfK  SPEAirS. 


^' 


**  If  your  ean  tell  you  she  is  false— no  I  if  yoiir  eyet  tbâ' 
«he  is  not  what  she  claims  to  be — no  !  a  hundred  times  no  i 
I  tell  you  she  is  no  nian's  wife,  an,l  I  think  she  bas  teason  tr 
rejoice  she  will  never  be  yours." 

"  Enough  of  this  mystery  !  "  Longworth  exclaiins,  rising  in 
angr}'  impatience.  "  Speak  out  the  whole  truth,  or  do  not 
•pcak  at  alL  Where  then — who  then,  is  the  wife  Durand 
fpokeof?"  .  . 

"  She  is  hère  I  I  am  Léonce  Durand's  mo«»  wrelched 
wife!" 

"  You  t"  he  stands  stunned^  Jie  looks  at  her  in  blank  tk- 
Irnce.    •*  You  l  Mademoiselle  Marie." 

"  I  am  not  Mademoisell^^arie-r-I  hâve  deceiyed  you  ail. 
,i  own  it  now,  when  it  is'ldolate.  I  came  to  this  place  Lé- 
once Durand's  wife,  an4,  as  you  say,  for  the  sake  of  an  in- 
heritance,  denied  it." 

He  sits  suddenly  down.  His  face  still  keeps  that  stunned 
look  of  utter  amaze,  but  with  it  raingles  a  flush  of  swift,  half 
incredulous  hope. 

"  If  you  only  say  this,"  he  begins,  "  to  vindicate  your  si^ 

ter'^ "  ,  "'j        * 

.  "?B4h..l  that  is  not  like  your  customaiy  sound  sensé/  Mr. 
Longwo  th  An  I  likèly  to  do  that  ?  Reine  ist,ftf  ^e  kind 
to  make  sac;*fices,  to  be  f^iful  to  dealh  throu^ 
npt  I.  You  are  glad  thalT  I  hâve  told  you  t| 
you  are,  and  when  ail  is  explained,  an^  you 
Icnger,  you  will  cease  to  doubt.  Yd|  will  even  be  ready  to 
'..forgive  her  for  havinglîeèn  falsely  accused  and  condemned, 
condescend  to  take  hei^ack.  But,  ïnonsieur,  il  I  know 
ie  will  not  comeDack.  Faith  ceases  to  be  a  vir- 
is  opèn  and  clear.  If  you  believe  in  her,  anid 
becausl^piuibt  has  become  impossible,  where  la 
erit  as  a  Idi^  anJ  a  friend  ?     Reine  will  not  retun 

you.     She  is  proud,  and  you  hâve  humble<l  herto  the  vcrjp; 
doit.     In  H)ite  of  you,  I  can  see  that  y(M  love  her,  and  «il 


^ 


Ai' 


\    . 


w. 


m. 


1 


MA*/e  s^EAtrs. 


S9! 


.■<^ 


ler,  ând  I  am.glad  of  it.     Yes  I  ir.;in3:ca/,  I  sav  u  te 
"iur  faj:e_l  an.  glad  of  it     YoWdo  not  deserve  her,  yoq 
je^Vdid     She  isanan^l  of  goodness,  and  fidelity   and 
-  ^  r"l   ^°"  are-^what  are  you.  Monsieur  Longwcrth) 
"o^î    i        ,T"u*''°  ^^^'^"^««and  hunts  down  a  helples. 
prl--the  g.rl  he  has  asked  to  be  His  wîfe  ?     Do  you  suffe,  } 

«nH  I  r  f,  °  *''*'  '°°  '  ^'°"  ^^^^"^^  »°  «"ff«r-  Listen, 
I^H  ;:?^^  *'"  J'^".^'  the  truth-the  truth  which  Reihe  knew 
*nd  which  she  n„ght  Kave  told,  and  so  saved  herself.  Dut 
•hewould,  not,  for  a  pronuse  bound  her.  She  loved  me,  and 
l-6««ice,  and  was  true  to  us.     Listenherel" 

J^'^y  "7^""î,^.*"^  *=^»  «P^ak  whcn  she  chooses.  habitu- 
•Ily  silentas  she  .s.    AU  J^er  languor,  ail  her  indolent  grâce 

IZrT"'  """T  '^^y'  -"d  her  words  flow  forth  f„  a 
stemless  torrent.  Deep  excitement  bums  in  her  steadfas, 
q^es,  her  hands  are  t.ghtly  clasped  in  her  lap,  two  spots  of 
color  gleartî  feverishly  on  her  cheeks.  . 

For  Longwôrth,  he  sits  mute  and  stricken,  likea  man  who 
iistens  to  his  own  sentence  of  doom. 

I  Zlr  ^r""  'f.  "'"""^  ""^  °"'  '^''^°'^'  ^''  Longwôrth.  thaï 
Ik.edw.thmyfaU.er  in  London,  and  Reine  went^hen  a 

duldtoourAuntDemse  Durand  in  Rouen.     She  and  Léonce    " 

uTl^  fTul'     ""'  ""'  '^^  ^e*^  °f  seventeen,  taking  i      ^ 
»no  h.s  fodish  boy's  head  that  he  w^in  love  .ith  her 
w^as  nonsense,  of  course,  and  she  laughed  at  him.  and  in  . 

to  :^:z^r^  -'  '-^^  r-  -  -y  hi;  f^t  ^: 

She  pauses  for  a  moment  with  a  wistful,  saddèned  look,i, 
tf  Ae  memonr  of  that  first  meeting  arose  beforc  her  repio«:k. 

For  Longwôrth.  there  cornes  to  him  another  memory-the 
r  f      And  tbe  low,  earnest  voice  that  answered,  and  \iw 


396 


MARIB  SPRAKS. 


he  tefused  to  believe  :     "  It  was  only  (iar£>  -he  was  b&2  • 
boy — he  was  too  young  to  be  any  one's  lover.'' 

Even  then  she  had  been  true  as  truth  ;  and  l>e— weil,  he 
had  always  heard  whom  the  gods  wish  to  destroy  they  firti 
rrake  raad.  The  raadness  of  corning  destruction  must  bava 
i^een  upon  him  ;  he  can  understand  his  besotted  iblly  in  no 
odier  way. 

"  "  I  am  not  going  into  détails  in  this  stor)-  I  ani  forced  te 
tell  you,"  Marie  goes  slowly  on.  "  Léonce's  visit  lasted  ail 
that  winter,  and  when  he  returned  to  Rouen  he  was  my  lover, 
not  poor  Petite's.  It  wak  our  first  meeting,  for  though  I  had 
?isited  Rouen  once  or  twice,  Léonce  had  always  been  absent 
We  did  not  meet  ver)'  often  after  that,  but  we  correspond- 
cd  regularly.  I  liked  him  always.  I  was  never  a  very  ro- 
mantic  girl,  but  his  handsome  face  won  my  fancy  from  the  first, 
and  no  one  has  ever  supplanted  him  to  thîs  day. 
*  j  "  Well,  our  lives  and  years  went  on.  Aunt  Denise  wished 
Léonce  to  become  a  lawyer,  but  dr}'  studies  were  never  to 
his  taste.  He  had  a  voice  and  a  face  that  ail  the  world  told 
him  might  make  a  fortune,'  and  he  was  ready  enoiigh  to  be- 
lieve  the  pleasant  flattery.  He  went  to  Paris  and  studied  for 
the  operatic  stage  ;  he  urged  Reiïie  to  study  likewise  for  the 
saine  profession.  And,  as  you  know,  for  a  time  she  did.  Hc 
raade  his  first  appearance  and  was  successful.  But  success 
■poils  some  natures.  Léonce  in  its  sunshine  devcloped  traits 
that  nearly  brok^  his  m'other's  heart.  He  becanie  by  slow 
iegrees,  but  surely,  a  gambler,  until  at  last  he  alinost  entirel) 
yt^yç  up  the  stage  for  the  table  of  the  croupier.  He  was 
always  at  Baden,  and  Homburg,  and  Monaco — when  he 
was  not,  he  was  in  London  with  us.  .My  Aunt  Denise 
knew  it,  Reine  knewit — the  factof  hisgambling,  I  «nean  ;  bu! 
they  loved  him,  and  hoped  for  him,  and  held  their  peace. 
Neither  my  father  nor  I  knew  anylhing  of  it^,  it  is  ail  I  CML 
■ay  in  my  own  defence.  His  pockets  were  always  full  àL 
wontft  he  was  invatiably  dressed  in  tl  e  most  élégant  fa«MoB 


^„--A,„^..,  — ..  ■     :!■.,.- 


MARIE  SPRAKS, 


39; 


•nd  we  thoaght  he  made  ail  hîs  moncy  in  his  profcMion.  We 
•rere  engaged,  but  .secretly.  Papa  wa?  ambitious  for  me,  and 
tnought  I  might  do  better  than  aiany  a  mère  singer  and  we 
fclt  inslinctively  that  neither  Àunt  Denis,  nor  Reine  wouln 
*  apprôve.  So  We  met  oftenand  held  our  peace  and  were  quite 
happy,  but  there  was  one  drawback— Léonce  was  inclined  to 
be  je&lous. 

"  Our  house  was  weU  filled  with  artists  of  aU  kinds,  an!  nien 
of  a  much  higher  social  grade.  And  I-well,  monsieur,  I  did 
not  appear  often,  but  I  was  held  as  a  sort  of  belle,  made  much 
ofaccordingly,andUK)nce  grew  at  times  moodily  jealous. 
He  never  had  any  cause,  that  I  will  say  ;  I  cared  for  him 
only,  and  he  knew  it.  Still  thç  jealousy  was  there,  and  we 
quarreled  and  parted,  and  met  again  and  made  up,  after  tiK 
"stial  foolish  fashion  of  lovers. 

"Then  came  the  time  when-Aunt  Denise  died,  and  the 
war  began.  Léonce  went  away  among  the  first,  and  I  leamed 
-t  ast  m  misery  and  sickening  fear,  how  dear  he  was  to  me, 
and  how  misérable  I  would  be  without  him.    Months  passed, 
and  although  he  was  a  prisoner  he  was  safe  and  well,  and  I 
resolved  with  my  whole  heart  that  when  we  met  again  he 
should  hâve  no  grounds  for  jealousy  from  me,  that  I  woi.Id 
be  ail  the  most  exactmg  lover  would  require.    Before  he  came 
the  last  great  and  sad  change  in  the  livesof  Reine  and  niysell 
had  taken  place-our  father  died.    And  dying,  lus  wish  wa, 
thaï  we  should  conie  hère.     It  was  the  duty  of  our  ..lother's 
mother,  he  said,  to  provide  for  hcr  granddaughters.    I  thoughi 
«o  too.     My  life  had  been  one  of  poverty  and  ^vork.    I  long- 
ed  for  a  life  of  luxupr  and  ease.     It  was  my  right  to  hâve  it 
«nce  |y  grandniother  was  so  wealthy  a  woman.     Stem  and 
hard  s^  might  bc-thow  stem  and  hard,  poor  aiiing  mainma 

!l!^,'f  •-  ^H"°^  fear;  the  stake  was  worth  the— 

▼enturïf-W^would  go,  ànd  «irely,  for  very  shame  she  would 
BOt  tum1iei«^|^ughter's  children  from  the  door. 
^      "T^ï  ***'^  ^^  "°*  ^^  '"s*><^e  to  Madame  Wiidicf'i 


...,y,,- 


398      '  y^        MARIE  SPEAKS. 

•trengtb^of  character.    But  for  you,  Mr.    I^ngwr/rth    sh* 
hâve  donc  even  that     I  had  written  a  leltei  of  fa?e 
to  Léonce,  and  we  had  made  ail  our  préparations  foi 
departure,  when  he  suddenly  appeared. 

'*  He  opposed  my  détermination  by  every  argument  and 
;ntreaty  he  could  urge.  Wealth  was  very  well,  but  theio 
were  things  in  the  world  better  than  wealth.  Forcing  our- 
sclves,  as  we  were  about  to  do,  upon  a  relative  who  scome«î 
and  despised  us,  what  could  we  expect  but  a  life  of  nisery  ? 

"  Reine  joined  him  ;  her  répugnance  to  the  project  wai 
mvincible  from  the  first  ;  But  my  resolution— ray  obstinacy, 
Léonce  called  it— was  not  to  be  shaken,  and  he  grew  so  pas- 
sionately  excited  and  enraged  at  my  persistence,  that^to  ap- 
pease  him,  I  promised  to  grant  the  désire  of  his  heart  and 
marry  him  secretly  before  I  left  London. 

"  He  had  urged  it  before,  but  I  ne  ver  would  listen.  I 
liked  my  lover,  but  I  disliked  the  thought  of  a  husband  with 
power  to  control  and  command  me.  Still  I  knew  Léonce 
well  enough  in  his  jealous  temper,  to  be  very  sure  that  this 
was  the  only  way  to  prevent  his  accorapanying  us  across  the 
océan,  and  ruining  ail  our  plans.  I  made  two  stipulations  : 
the  first,  that  Reine  should  not  know  until  I  saw  fit  to  tell 
her  ;  the  second — a  solemn  one — this,  that  no  matter  how 
long  we  should  be  obliged  to  stay  apart,  he  would  not  fclloi» 
us,  but  would  trust  me,  and  be  content  to  know  that  I  wai 
bound  to  him  irrevocably,  and  wait. 

"  He  pledged  himself  to  both  ;  he  would  hâve  pledged 
himself  to  anything  to  make  me  his  wife.  We  were  married 
on  the  day  we  left  London  for  Livenwol.  I  went  out  ei  iy 
in  the  inorning  and  was  quietly  married,  unknown  to  Reine. 
Hc  retumed  with  me  home,  saw  after  our  luggage,  drove 
with  us  to  the  station  ;,  and  we  both  shook  hands  with  him 
=Àefer  ^md  sa  parted.     He  plcaded  j£L  jgcomBany  m Jk- 


Liverpool,  but  I  would  not  consent 
**The  cap'ain  of  the  Hesperia  wm  my  fathei'i  friend  ;  i» 


*'•'$,«■ 


I 
I 

\ 

V 

c 

«J 

m 
ne 

Si 


MAMIE  SPEAKS 


399 


et. 


■% 


»y  fiUhei'.  «ke  Ae  promised  to  mect  u.  at  tU  Urcrpool 
^n^  .nd  Uke  ch«ge  of  a.  antii  we  landed  ^^ 

«And  now.  monsieor,  I  corne  to  Reine',  du^e  in  my  mort 
«^ate  secret     On  the  day  but  one  before  we  iLde A 

Î^:h  ^^'^'^^"^  •"  -«-<»«'  and  the  deepest  regret" 

^aid^%V"    ^^"^«"»--**W°kit,hewiUgrowS^ 
wamng  foUow  you,  and  overthrow  aU  your  plan»,     i  know 

hu  love  and  jealousy  stand  in  the  way  ' 

«She  «dd  truly  ;  she  did  know  him  weU.     Then  d,e  in 
^^^became  confidential,  and  told  me  he  was  a  confina^ 

regret  and  self-reproach,  '  this  fatal  maxiiage  might  never  Le 
ÏtaTed^'^  'r  ^.°"^^  issodearZfe.  thft  eve: to^i: 

ÎSf.r^''':i'"'''"'*"     inhadonlydreamedofthi; 
1  might  bave  saved  you,' 

^e  ;  ,f  ail  turned  ont  as  I  believed,  and  our  grandmother 
«nade  us  her  heu-esses,  the  temptation  to  ganible  would  b^ 

would  surely  offer  no  attraction.     I  bound  Reine  to  secrecy 
velf  you,  Mr.  I^ngworth,  know. 

On"  )h  V'"'^''^;  ""^  *''*''  ^^  °"  "°™"«  '»•''«'  yo"  know  alL 

«1^-  Z'"^.     '   '^"°'"«'  ^*^*'"^  W^'^d^^r  ^<^Wly  and 
1  emly  mformed  us  that  you  were  her  heir,  that  our  being 

tilowed  to  corne  tp  her  house  at  au  was  your  doing.     YoS 
mayunapne  howpleasant  such  intelligence  was  iaus  both. 


_-^  • u-  ^-  "  *l^^"^v°^^A  «nieiiigence  was  ia us  both. 

:^ne^,aTthougfi   Reine  resented  it  most  bitto^ 

S^did  no  despair  ;  we  were  hère,  that  was  a  great  poin. 

IMoed.     I  felt  pafrfal  to  you  for  what  you  had  don^     H 


400 


MARIE  5PBAXS 


«ould  go  hard  with  tue  I  thought,  if  I  could  not  udvce  on 
granJinother  eventually  to  change  her  niind,  and  alter  that 
unjust  will.  Then,  monsieur,  arose  our  second  dilenima— 
you  wished  to  niarry  one  of  us.  We  were  ordéred  peremp 
torily  to  accept,  when  you  saw  fit  to  propose,  under  pain  kA 
immédiate  expulsion.  Reine  was  brave  for  herself,  but  she 
trembled  for  me.  She  loves  nie,  monsieur,  as  few  sisters  love 
Can  you  wonder  we  both  hoped  she,  not  I,  would  be  the  one 
selected.  From  the  first  almost,  I  felt  sure  of  it.  I  could 
•ee  she  attracted  you  in  spite  of  yourself.  Her  very  hauteur 
and  dislike  of  you  seeme^  to  draw  you  on.  That  dislike  at 
the  ûrst  was  very  sincère,  but  she  was  too  just  of Judgment 
and  generous  of  heart  for  it  to  last.  It  faded  little  by  little, 
and  somethingelse  came  in  its  place.  Wlien  you  did  speak, 
Mr.  Longworth,  when  you  did  ask  her  to  be  your  wife,  she 
could  say  yes  with  a  readiness  that  I  think  surprised  even 
herself." 

Longworth  lies  back  in  his  chair,  his  arms  folded,  his  brow» 
knit,  his  eyes  fixed,  at  first  sternly  on  her  face,  fixed  now 
moodily  on  the  floor.     He  can  recall  that  night  and  under 
stand  for  the  first  Hnie  the  words  that  surprised  him  then  : 
"  Since  it  nad  to  be  one  of  us  I  am  glad  I  am  the  one." 
She  was  too  innocently  frank  even  to  hide  that.     The  ad 
luission  was  not,  as  he  had  flattered  himself,  because  she 
caredfor  him  more  than  she  knew,  but  because  immédiate 
cxi)osure  and  expulsion  would  hâve  folio wed  his  choice  of 
Marie. 

"  You  asked  her  to  marry  you  ;  she  consented,"  pursr.f» 
Marie,  "  and  ail  went  well.  I  am  not  hère  to  betray  tx) 
sister's  heart.  You  ^o  not  deserve  to  see  it  ;  but  you  ue 
man  enough,  and  vain  enough,  to  khow  well  she  was  leaming 
to  care  for  you,  to  honor  you,  to  trust  in  you,  to  be  proud  d 
r^POtt  witfr  1^  her  warm^  geneiou»  heart. 


f*Then  came  Leone  s,  and  irom  the  first  moment  he  «p. 
pMred  you  know  how  well  you  requited  that  tnui      Y«n 


■,•■'.*" 


■l'n 


f«oi 


MAXU  SfEAXS. 

ta.  day,  ,„„  ,„,d  J^,,  fal".;  o"  he!^i^,l*" -^ 
« -f  you  can  I  Shé  confessed  nlZ  T  ^.  "«""«-«l™» 
•««"lie  more  to  h»r  than  h,r  „      *•  ,        '  ''°'  J"™  ""«i 

refuMd  to  accent  hirrin!  ,         ,     '     """"■  '<>  «e  him,  J 

■  .ned  to  betraT^eT^^JH^»  '«'-     «=  ««i- 

"d  told  him  nuieilv  ,1,.,  W'Msor.     I  bade  him  do  m, 

tan,  aient.  ^  ^    ""''  ""''  *»'  ««»'■«/  alone  held 

«.e7o^tet:t.re:™\o°rorLtiT  "  "-  -■ 

contempt     And  Reine  trlg  ZZl^  '"'f'"/''  '""■)' 
her  whole  heart,  she  ve  haH  f„  ^     \  "^  «crets  with 

What  you  heard  that  LhHn  M  ï"  *  ^"'  ^''^  «°  «"  ? 
«nderstand  now.  I  Zt  1  ^^^"h  '"''  ^"'^"  ^^"  ^^" 
présume,  th.  lover  heTefi ^T  to      tT"p"~''^'  ^"*^^'  ' 


UtUe  froa  L4oDoei 


'■ft 


f^.'-.  a"k^ii& JJ»^  ' 


403 


HaâIE  s^EArs. 


<*That,  I  Bnpf>ose,  was  the  last  drop  in  his  cup  of  bitta 
'  ness  and  jaUQulty.  His  money  was  gone,  he  desired  to  fcl 
low  and  wreak  What  vengeance  I  cannot  tell  ;  and  recklesi 
and  desper9,te  enterêd  Madame  Windsoi's  house  andlstolt 
her  money.  Reine  may  hâve  discovered  him,  I  do  nor 
know.  It  may  very  easily  hâve  been  so.  While  his  crinu' 
broke  her  heart,  was  she  likely  to  betray  the  brother  slic 
tove»''?  Oh  I  mj  little  sister,  my  Reine,  my  Reine  !  what 
foil  mast  hâve  endured  standing  before  your  pitiless  judgei 
and  cast  offwith  scom  and  insuit!  In  night  and  stealth, 
like  a  guilty  créature,  she  had  to  fly  and  the  good  God  only 
know3  what  is  her  fate.'  Oh  I  Mon  Dieu  f  ^Mon  Dieu  f  it 
oreaks  my  héart  only  to  think  of  it." 

She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands  and  weeps  passionately 
aloud.     Longworth  stàrts  to  his  -£eet,  goaded  by  her  teari' 
and  re[M:oaches,  by  thè  (ar  more  niaddening  reproaches  of 
his  own  heart,  almost  beyond  endurance. 

"  For  ïJeaven's  sake,  stop  !  "  he  says,  hoarsely,  "  I  cannot 
stand  this  I  I  hâve  been  a  d— — d  fool,  and  you  hâve  been 
from  the  first  to  the  last  one-of  the  most  utterly  selfi&h  and 
tîeartless  women  that  ever  drew  breath  l  " 

"  I  know  it  I  I  know  it  I  "  she  says  between  her  sobs  ; 
*<  no  need  to  tell  me  that  In  blaming  you  I  do  not  spare 
myself,  but  what  will  ail  our  self-reproach  avail  to.,  help  hei 
whose  heart  we  hâve  broken." 

He  walks  up  and  down  the  room.  His  face  is  startlingly 
pale,  his  eyes  are  full  of  remorse,  and  pain,  and  shame,  but 
his  habituai  self-control  does  not  désert  him.  He  stops  al 
last,  suddïnly,  before  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  V*  he  coldly  asks. 

She  lifts  her  head  and  faces  him.  Her  tears  bave  ceaaed; 
•hç  looks  composcd  and  résolut*:  once  more. 

**  To  go  from  hère  to  my  grandmother,  and  confess  to  h« 


what  I  bave  confessed  to^you." 
"What  good  will  that  do  ?  "   be  demandi  almott  nm^ilf 


4he^ 


of  bLttm 
ed  to  fcl 

1  recklesi 
andlstoli 
I  do  no' 
his  crinii' 
)ther  slif 
te  !  what 
;ss  judgei 
i  stealth, 
God  only 
Dûu^    il 

»sionateIy 
her  teari' 
aches  of 

'  I  cannot 
lave  bcei) 
elfi&h  and 

1er  sobs  ; 

net  spare 

help  hei 

itartlingljr 

tame,  bul 

stops  al 


«  ceased; 
iS8  to  hei 


ron^iljr 


MAX/£  SPBAJTS.  ^, 

*  ^  bringing  ruin  on  yourself  will  v«..  . 

»  i>  -ha,  sh=  -oui/ Z«r!jrrH        '"':>"""" 

io«  help  her."  ^  ''""  '^J'  «P^^^ng  I  could 

"  Then  do  as  she,  wotrfd  hâve  vo»  H«     v      .. 

7ouarethrustouthoiheI*.«»n^      "^ners  a  httle  now.     If 
«ster's  happiness?    Gri!     *"^f  "^'^^^^  '^i"  «add  toyoui 

aiready.  unTess To    toÎl^  "  !r^  ^T  '^''^  '^'  ^^  »- 
••  A«  r  ™...  k    ■  spurnai  and  cast  adrift." 

"  No  iT     '."  t"''  "^'"  *'*=  «^=.  «««y 

*e  ïir  ,t  7^Z%:  r  r  '^  '^'-«^^ 

.ha.  ,o„  diived  etter  2;  ^S'"^:"  •»"  »  »'  " 
fo.  detesting  Durand  <îh„l.  '  .  She  gives  ,.ou  cre  lil 
i"«  .h=  si.f.r  of"ie    andTr      '»»'"'-*)■■"- .e 

.4  .o.peak  Ld  s  .h  s;  ^'u  *:"?  ""•  '  ^ 

*«  s.ig...a  from  n,y  sW, Trâe/^-    '*'  '""  '  •=^"  "■"»" 

"Canyou?     Ferait  me  to  doubtit      v« 

/our  ow„,  bat  remove  it  frorahe^r  ,1  ''  "''''  "  '" 

:nade,„o„e,le.  there  is  noZgforïb:  '.o      '°  T'    "»• 
«  .tands.     Your  sister  bas  vZ  1  "•"  ''"'"•'  "       - 

Krice  .0  the  la.,  fanhing  VuX/ca;  dT''  '"''  """  ""       1 
to  her  distress.     AU  vou  canni      .  ""'  "  ■""  '"  '«'''        ' 

•-«  wha,  .o:^i':circ  rr^lTot"";!:  -r^"""" 


404 


O^SULUVAN  SPRAKS. 


Sic  risea  silendy.  He  holds  the  door  open  and  Aey  go 
down  stairs  Frank  is  irapatiently  kicking  hîs  heels  in  the 
Chili  darkness  ;  the  hack  still  waits,  and  Mr.  Dexter  springl 
forward  with  alacrity  and  hands  her  in.  Longworth  standi 
bareheaded,  the  light  of  the  carriage  lamps  falling  on  his 
feice,  and  as  Frank  looks  at  him  he  staré^.  ^ 

"  Good  gracions,  Larry,  what  is  the  matfér  ?  You  look 
like  a  sheeted  ghost,  old  boy.  What  is  it— liver— bile— too 
many  hot  buckwheats  for  breakfast,or  too  much  ink  and 

paper  ail  day — hey  ?  " 
"     tongwarth  drakes  htm  off  4mpatientlyi  ■._-^- 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Dexter.  Tell  Mrs.  Windsor  I  will  caP 
npon  her  to-morrow,"  .he  says  to  Marie. 

Then  Frank  jumps  in  beside  her,  the  carriage  rolls  awai 
and  Longworth  is  left  standing  in  the  darkness  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXIX.  ^   . 

O'SULLIVAN   SPEAKS. 

|R.  FRANK  DEXTER,  during  the  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  or  so  that  he  stands  waiting  outside  the 
Phénix  building,  has  time  for  rumination,  and  this 
rumination  is  not  of  an  agreeable  character.  The  events  of 
the  afternoon  hâve  transpired  in  such  rapid  succession,  as 
after  a  manner  to  take  his  breath  away,  and  leave  no  feeling 
very  clear,  except  one  of  puzzled  disapprobation. 

But  now  he  has  time  and  opportunity  to  think.  Has  Du- 
ntnd  really  robbed  Mrs.  Windsor,  and  has  Reine  been  forced 
to  fly  as  hisaccoinplice  m  guilt  ?  That  she  is  his  accoraplice, 
Frank  nevw  fora  second  imagines — that  ev€n  Dursuu? 
■hould  hâve  been  capable  of  so  'ow  a  crime  itaggers  hiia 
H«  doe«  Dot  like  the  fellow.  he  neier  has,  but  still  Duimk^ 


Ù*SULUVAfr  SPEAn, 


I  tfiey  go 
ils  in  the 
;r  springl 
th  standf 
[g  on   hit 

Vou  look 

bile — too 

ink  and 


I  will  caP 

-oUs  awai 
le. 


4ûS 


uarters  of 
utside  the 
1,  and  thi& 
events  of 
ession,  as 
no  feeb'ng 

Ha»  î>u- 
;en  forccd 
xomplice, 

rgers  hiia 

11   DUI«IK^ 


tlemaïk. 


Marie*! 
tie  want 


Jm  the  culture,  the  manners,  and  the  instincts , 
rher.-  mustbe  some  mistake-a  garabler  he 
gUr  surely  not. 

And  yet  why  that  look  of  white  constemiion 
'  *r.e,  if  she  thinks  him  inocent?    And  what/ 
of  I  ongworth  ?    Why  go  to  him  before  goi 
mother  ?    What  are  they  talking  of  nowr  ?    , 
»  frown  at  the  lighted  windows.     Why  doei  sne  prêter  et* 
mltxng  and  confiding  in  Long.orth\o  ^nfiding  i„  C' 
He  h^  ceased  to  be  jealous  of  his  cousin/     Longtorth-^Tn 
ifference  to  Marie  and  her  beauty  ever  since  th^first  flw 

«fscl    h"h''^'"V°  ^"  "^^  "°^'^     '^•^-  ^heret  Z 
tap  South  ;  he  ha^  made  certain  of  that.  and  now  his  best  laid 

pl^^.arego.ng«^Iee,-ancl  Gcoigiasecm.  fkrtheroffttT 

could  he  not  hâve  waited  another  week  ?  By  that  IZ  tiev 
-oiUd  hâve  beeh  at  the  family  homestead /he  wouW  hâve 
putlus  fate  to  the  touch  and  won  or  lost  alL 

Hnl^       T"^  """  ™""'"''  *°  ^^  »^  l^slow  moments. 
^Î^r^t7  T-'""'  ^^^  °^  *^  natioTmigbt  haV^C 

when  a  las  they  appear.  and  the  sight  of  his  cousin's  face 
ato.ost  hv.d  .n  the  gas-light,  startles  hin,.  He  speak  once  «; 
^cedunng  the  short  drive  tothe  Stone  House'  Itisdoubt 
W  If  she  hears  u  ,s  certain  she  does  not  answer.  But  as  the 
«rr.age  stops  before  the  gloomy garden  and  stiU  moregl^^! 
hou*^  she  leans  orward  and  lays  one  hand  on  his  ar^.  ' 
Mr  Dexter,"  she  says,  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  «  I 
n»ve  a  favor  to  ask  of  von.  u  u  ♦!.;„  r» 
•nr  raore." "*  "*  y°^    It  is  this  ;  Do  not  corne  hen 


'Miss  Landelle ". 


\ 


5«l!' 


406 


0*SVLUVAIf  SPBAKS, 


ly  ;  "  to-manow  is  the  day  you  n^re  to  start^  As  a  fiiTOfe 
to  me,  Mr.  Frank,  leave  hère  to  morrow  by  the  'early  train, 
and  go  with  Madame  Dexter,  as  you  had  propojedf  I  kûo» 
that  she  is  anxious  to  get  home  ;  do  not  disappoibt  her.  Ai 
a^avor  to  me,  Monsieur  Frank."  'v, 

"There  are  few  favors  I  could  think  of  refusing  you,  vqai&% 
moiselle — will  you  pardon  me  if  I  beg  you  not  to  insist  uiJ||^ 
this?  There  is  something  I  must  say  to  you."  Frank^^W 
•ies  on,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  which  I  meant  to  say  wh^ec 
vou  had  seen  my  unde  and  my  home  But  peilia{w  you  wiH 
stillcome " 

"  No,"  she  interrupts,  "  I  will  never  go  now.  I  ought 
never  to  hâve  thought  oï  going  at  ail.  Oh,  how  mnch  misery 
it  niight  hâve  saved  if  I  had  not."  *  ^, 

«Then  I  cannot  leave  to-morrow,"  Franlqiays,  decisively. 
•  Before  we  part,  I  must  speak  and  you  mùSt  „answer.  You 
know — ^you  must  know,  why  I  hâve  spent  this  sumnier  hère, 
iHien  duty  so  often  called  me  away.  I  shall  not  leave  Bay> 
mouth  again  until  I  know  when  and  how,  if  evor,  I  am  to  re-  „ 
tum." 

There  is  a  firmness  in  the  young  majh's  tone,  in  his  fate, 
which  even  in  the  ob'scurity  she  recognizes.  She  makes  a 
gesture  as  though  she  would  ring  her  hands.  * 

"  Oh  1  "  she  says  under  her  breath,  despair  in  her  voice. 
"This  too  must  be  met  and  borne.  This  too  I  hâve  desenf- 
éd.  Mr.  Dexter  !  "  she  cries,  and  clasps  her  hands  and  looks 
at  him,  "  I  hâve  not  been  just  or  generous  with  you — I  ask 
you  to  be  both  with  me.  Go  away  and  say  nothing.  Oh, 
believe  me  it  will  be  better — and  do  not  come  back.  I  hâve 
no  right  to  ask  this — to  ask  anything  ;  but  you  hâve  always 
been  kind  and  a  friend  to  me.  Show  yourself  a  friend  to  the 
last — go  to-morrow  and  let  us  sec  each  otker  no  more." 
__  Hc  leans  alittle  tbrward  to  look  in  her  face.  His  owniL 
pcrfectly  pale— his  eyes  are  fuU  of  dark,  swift  terrer.  Tht 
hft^  il  standing  sdll  at  the  iion  gâte.    The  hVtx  ii  stoi 


r 


w 


^^t^h 


I  a  fiiTOl 

rly  traiiit 

I  kAo# 

ber.    Al 

sist  vt\^ 

ank^ttfiii 
ay  whiicD 
I  ]roa  wiH  " 

I  ought 
•htaiscrj 

ecisively. 
er.  You 
lier  hère, 
ave  Bay» 
am  to  re-  „ 

his  faée, 
makes  a 

er  voice. 
e  deserv- 
ind  looks 
u — I  ask 
ng.  Oh, 
I  hâve 
e  alwayt 
nd  to  the 
>re." 
is  own  " 
or.  Tha 
r  if  stoi 


r^- 


/• 


0*SVUJVAN  SFEATS. 


40y 


^eaOy  at  hit /L^nes'  heads,  wondering  wha.  nia  farefi  can  be 
aboat         /  . 

"Does  this  mean,"  he  says,  "that  you  answer  before  J 
a»k  ?— that  you  anticipate  my  (Juestion  and  refuse  ?  Doe« 
it  meac  that  when  I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  you  will  sav 

BOf" 

^  "On  1  "  Bhe  says,  and  shrinks  from  him  as  though  he  had 
itmck  hir,  «  I  asked  you  to  be  generous,  and  this— this  ii 
what^usay." 

«  If  generosity  means  silence,  then  you  certainly  Iteve  no 
right  to  ask  it,"  Dexter  responds,  that  ring  of  new-bom  man- 
V  j  '™«*»  "^f  resolution  in  his  tone  ;  "and  I  certainly  shall  not 
^     comply.  "  I  hâve  spent  this  summer  hère  becausç  you  were 
her»,  and  I  could  not  go.     Jou  know  that  well.     From  tlie 
first  moment  l  stood  and  Jooked  at  you  in  Mrs.  Windsor's  ^ 
parlor  my  whole  life  was  sHiped  so  far  as  a  woman  can  make 
ormaraman.    This  too  you  know.     I  do  not  say  you  hâve 
encouraged  me.      I  only  know  you  hâve  been  most  kind— 
fatally  kind,  if  you  really  mean  the  cnjel  words  you  hâve  juat 
«poken.    I  hâve  not  been  presumptuous  or  prématuré  ;  I 
hoped,  but  I  also  feared  ;  I  hâve  given  you  time.    But  there 
is  a  limit  to  ail  things.    I  can  wait  no  longer.    I  must  know 
^  whether  I  am  to  hope  or  despair,  and  that  before  we  part  ta 
night"  *•     ' 

The  words  corne  in  one  impetuous  outbreak— there  ia 
more  in  his  heart  a  thousand  times  than  he  ever  can  utter. 
Ail  his  life  seems  to  hang  in  the.b^ance  ;  a  word  from  her  is 
to  tum  the  scale.  The  incongruity  of  time  and  pl^ce  nevei 
sUikes  him— an  outburst  of  love  in  a  hack,  smellingof  stables, 
and  moldy  cushions,  ard  a  prosaîc  cabby  staiiiping  about 
Ihe  horses'  heads  to  ke«.p  himself  warm  while  he  waits. 

Marie  sits  quite  still,  her  fingers  locked  tightly  in  her  lap  ; 
a  k>ok  of  mute  misery  on  her  fece.    -  -'  - — - ^    -^.-. — 

"  I  am  a  wretch  I  "  she  says,  "a  selfish,  heartless  wretcfe. 
VooT  coosin  said  to,  and  he  was  right    Through  me  hii  lift 


4ûS 


O* SULLIVAN  SPEAKS 


H» 


has  been  spoiled^  sharpe  and  stHTering  haye  failen  on  jnjr 
"  ter.  And  now  you — ypu  accuse  me  of  encouraging  you,  apd 
kading  you  on  ;  and  perhaps  you  are  right^  BUt  I  did  nO' 
niean  to  do  it— I  tlid  not  think  at  ail.  Qp  I  ever  think  of  an> 
ane  but  myself?  It  was  pleasant,  and  I  liked  it,  I  liked  you, 
and  so  I  drifte^  on,  and  never  cared  whether  you  were  hnrt 
or  not  If  you  knew  me^s  I  am,  yen  woiild  despise  nie- 
you  would  turn  froni  me  with-conteinpt — you  would  ask  the 
vilest  wonian  in  tbis  toWn  to  be  your  wife  sooner  than  me." 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  "  he  steadily  repeats. 

*•  No^  never  I  Ah,  heaven  I  it  is  a  crime  to  sit  and  beat 
)'ou  say  such  words-at  ail  !  " 

"  Think  again,"  he  says. ,    "  Yoij  refuse  now I  do  nol 

know  why,  but  one  day ^  " 

"  Never,  I  tell  you  !  "  she  cries  out  ;  "  never  I  never  I  It 
is  impossible.  Monsieur  Frank,  if  you  hâve  any  mercy  or 
pity  for  me,  let  us  part  hère.  Do  not  say  one  more  word. 
I  thought  to  i^are  mysëlf,  but  to  morrow  I  will  write  to  you 
and  tell  you  alL  What  right  bave  I  to  be  spared?  And 
*hen  you  knoîf  you  will  hâte  me  and  scorn  me,  but  not  one 
tithe  as  much  as  I  \vill  scorn  myself.  I  hâve  donc  wrong  to 
matoy  since  I  came  hère,  but  I  bave  done  most  wrong  of  ail 
«oyou."  ^  ^ 

^  She  opens  the  carnage  door  and  descends.  He  foUows 
hcr  in  gloomy  silence  up  the  avenue,  and  waits  while  she 
knocks.  As  the  key  is  turning  in  tTie  lock  he  speaks  for  Ihe 
first  lime.  .        ' 

*4You  say  you  will  write  to  me  to-morrow?"  he  sava, 
niOOdily.     "  Will  you  keep  your  Word  ?  " 

♦•  Yes,  I  will  kèep  it." 

'•  And  after  that  when  may  I  come  and  sec  you  ? 

♦•  Never  as  long  as  you  live.    You  will  not  want  to  cooie. 
^Ikiod-nigh^  monsieur,  and  adieu  I  "'_ 


He  sees  her  go  in,  then  turns,  springs  into  the  cab,  and 
dr  re«  ^o  Mr».  Longworth's.     llis  state  of  noind  is  desperate. 


-^rf^afi^.-.  > 


V*'^' 


O'SVLLIVAN  SPEAKS. 


409 


He  h,*  feared,  but  hc  has  hupcct  He  has  had  no  thought 
of  final  rejection.  And  what  fs  this  talk  of  cri.ne.and  guilt 
and  «rrong  ?  The  barc  thought  of  such  things  in  éonnection 
i^th  her  .s  sacnlege.  Does  she  refer  to  Durand  and  hisrob- 
be«y?  He.  does  not  care  fol  that.  But  no,  there  is  sorae 
other  ineaning-^me.molehill,  no  doubt,  magnified  iato  a 
mountain.  And  he  inust  wait  untÙ  to-morrovr,  until  her  note 
>:onie8  td  clear  up  the  mysteiy. 

Mr.  Dcxter  spends  a  supreniely  misérable  and  sleepless 
iught.     He  goes.to  bed  and  flounces  about,  .uakes  up  hia 
mind  mth  a  groan  that  sleep  is  impossible,  getsup  and  pace. 
to  and  fro  m  true  melodraraatic  fashion.     What  will  that  note 
contam?    What  secret  can  she  hâve  to  tell  him  ?    Will  it 
him  out  to  be  some  foolish  girl's  trifle,  or  will  it  really  be 
strong  enough  to  hold  them  asunder  ?    That,  he  décides  to 
hjs  owo  satisfaction,  is  utterly.  wildly,  absurdly  impossible. 
Thisris  soothing,  and  he  returns,  flings  liin,self  on  his  couch, 
andfinally,a8  the  gray  dawn  is  breaking,  falls  asleep,  and 
does  not  awake  until  breakfast  tiine. 

He  finds  Mrs.  Longworth's  numerous  and  sélect  family 
assenibled,  absorbing  the  niatutinal  coffee  and  beefsteaks. 
and  Mr.  Beckwith  lays  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  eyes  the 
new^:omer  with  stern  displeasure. 

"Mrs.  Longworth,  ma'am,"  says  Mr.  Beckwith,  "I  be- 
here  thJs  gentleman  occupies  the  room  .imniediately  above 
mme.  Either  he  is  consigned  to  some  other  quarter  of  this 
mansioh  before  another  night  falls,  or  blood  will  be^  spilled 
withm  thèse  waUs.     Young  man,  may  I  inquire  if  you  com- 

returned  to  this 

_.  ,  w        V 1---JV.V.  upon  your  con- 

■aence  to  the  exclusion  of  slumber  ?    That  you  should  be  a 
nuisance  to  yourself,  is  nothing-that  you  should  be  a  nui- 

=^ia^Mïs.^€ekwitbandtny5df,  iseverythirig.     Wha^  sir 

flid  you  raean  by  tramping  up  an  j  down  yom  apartment  like' 
M  eMap(>d  candidate  for  a  strait-jacket  ?    Answer  methat  I  ' 
1% 


wiuim  mese  waiis.     Young  man,  may  I  inq 
mitted  a  murder  last  evening  before  Vybu 
house  ?  or  what  other  ghastly  deed  pr^ed 


-ut 


4IO 


O  SULUVAN  SPEAJTS. 


**  Vary  sony,"  Frank  mutters,  rather  ungrapionsljr.  *  WJi>' 
know  I  dîsturbed  anybody.     Couidn't  sleep." 

"  No,  sir,  you  couidn't  sleep,"  retorts  Mr.  Beckwith,  sterr. 
ly.  "  What  is  more,  you  couldn't  let  Mrs.  Beckwith  sleep  , 
what  is  still  more,  you  couldn't  let  Mrs.  Beckwith's  husbant! 
sleep.  If  you  haye  any  regard  for  your  carpets,  Mrs.  Long 
«rorth,  you  will  rdâuest  this  young  man  to  find  some  othei 
establishment  whafein  to  practice  nocturnal  gymnastics.  If 
you  hâve  any  reg^d  for  me,  ma'am,  you  will  administer  to 
him  a  few  bottles  of  Af  rs.  Winslow's  Soothing  Syrup  to-nighl 
before  he  retires.  Look  at  him  I  Does  not  that  lean  and 
haggard  visage  bespeak  a  guilty  conscience  and  a  short 
allowance  of  sleep. 

AU  eyes  ttun  on  Frank,  who  scowls  and  car^'es  the  steak 
as  though  he  had  got  Mr.  Beckwith  on  his  plate,  and  were  dis- 
lecting  him.  He  certainly  looks  pale,  as  if  he  had  had  a  bad 
night  ;  and  so  too,  does  another  member  of  the  party,  whom 
Mr.  Beckwith  is  not  quite  so  ready  to  handle.  Longworth 
looks  as  though  he  had  scarcely  fared  better  in  the  matter  of 
repose  than  his  young  kinsman,  and  he  is  the  first  to  rise 
jmd  leave  the  table. 

"O'Sullivan  back  yet,  longworth?"  is  as  far  as  Mr. 
Beckwith  dare  go  with  this  gentleman  ;  but  there  is  a  mali- 
dous  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  asks  the  question.  Is  '!t  not 
the  talk  of  the  town  that  Mlle.  Reine  Landelle  bas  been 
turned  out  of  her  grandmother's  house  for  abetting  its  rob- 
beiy,  thàt  she  has  fled  to  New  York,  &nd  that  O'Sullivan. 
with  his  customary  easy-going  good-nature,  has  allowed  him 
sflf  to  be  imposed  upon  by  her  sham  distress,  and  has  goni 
with  her?  Further  than  this,  scandai — even  the  scandai  of 
a  country  town — goeth  not.  As  Miss  Hariott  has  said,  Mr 
O'Sullivan  is  one  of  thèse  exceptional  people  who  can  àc 
inity  what  would  be  the  ruin  ofasother^ 


^'Jusl  like  hiint"  is  the  Vehmgerùht  of  Baymontb;  **t 
good-natured  fool  that  anv  wonian  can  twist  tonnd  ha  finier." 


JI^Kh 


O'strujt^AJi^  sp£4/rs.  411 

^'«ngworth's  négation  is  curt,  and  then-  is  a  luok  in  his 
eyes  a.  he  fece,  Mr.  Beckwith  that  makes  that  gentleman 
cough  apologetically.  and  discreetly  retire.     He  goes  on  hi. 
way,  and  the  first  person  he  encounters  when  he  enters  tiw 
Pffice  >s  Mi.  O'SuUivan.    It  is  in  the  «ditor's  own  roon,  thc, 
œeet,  and  Longworth  tums  for  a  moi^ent  of  that  same  livid 
palenew  of  last  night.    The  two  men  stand  and  confroni 
each  other,  and  in  O'SuIlivan's  eyes  the  fiery  light  of  indig- 
nation bums.     He  is  not  a  bandsome  man-that  you  ha*  ^ 
been  told-nor  a  dignified  man;  but  as  he  tums  and  con- 
fronts  his  chief,  there  is  both  manliness  and  dignity,  bevond 
d'spute,  m  his  bearing.     Longworth  speaks». 
"  O'SulhVan,"  he  says,  "  where  is  she  ?  " 
"  Maybe  youll  tell  me  by  what  right  you  ask,"  O^ailvar 
answers,  contemptuously.     "  I  know  of  none." 

«By  the  right  of  a  man  who  bas  wronged  her  beyond  repa. 
ration,  and  yet  whose  only  désire  is  to  repaîr,  as  far  as  he 
he  may,  that  wrong.  By  the  right  of  a  man  who  has  insulted 
U»e  woman  he  should  bave  protected  and  trusted  ihrough  aU 
thm^  and  whose  whole  life  will  not  be  long  enough  to  atone 
for  that  msulL     I  hâve  been  a  fool,  O'Sullivan " 

"Oh,  upon  me  faith,  ye  havel"  bterpolates  O'SuUivan. 
bitterly.  ^ 

"  A  scoundrel-anything  you  likc.  Nothing  you  can  say 
can  add  te  the  remorse  and  shame  I  feeL  I  bave  not  even 
a  ngbt  to  thank  you  for  what  you  hâve  donc,  but  from  n.y 
•oui  1  do.  Mme  ha«  been  the  doings  of  a  dastard-yotii» 
of  a  true  and  bon  arable  man." 

He  holds  out  his  hand  ;  but  O'Sullivan  draws  back,  for  the 
6ret  tmie  m  his  life,  from  the  grasp  of  His  friend. 

-I  hâve  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  ye,  Mr.  Longwortft. 
When  I  bave  «aid  it,  it  may  be  you  will  feel  ..  i;>^«.  ijfce 


-WendlyT,and.8hakinga8l  do  now.     YoU  say  well  you  have^ 
no  n^t  to  thank  me.   I  want  none  of  your  tY  anks  ;  I  wouldn'i 
ttft  a  finger,  at  *hi.  minute,  to  mvc  your  lia     Yoti  bave  <br 


^^ 


.•JÉv 


0*SVLUVAN  SPSAKS. 


fcited  aU  rights  jrou  ever  had  so  far  as  Reine  l^andelle  is  co» 
cemed  ;  And  it  does  me  good  to  be  able  to  tell  you,  this  fin« 
moming,  that  to  your  dying  day  you  will  never  regain  them." 

Longwor^h  sits  down  without  a  word,  leans  his  elbows  on 
lus  dcsk  and  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  You  talk  of  atonement,"  goes  on  O'Sullivan,  contemptu- 
oasly;  "  You  talk  of  réparation  !  Upon  my  life,  it's  a 
luighty  fine  opinion  you  must  hâve  of  yourself  to  think  that 
whenever  you  choose  you  can  make  it  up  to  her — that  you 
hâve  only  to  say  a  few  flowery  words  and  she  wîll  be  ready 
to  forget  and  forgive.  If  you  think  so  it  is  little  you  know 
the  same  young  lady.  Ypu're  a  proud  man,  Mr.  LongwortH, 
but  you  don't  monopolize  ail  the  pride  of  the  world  ;  and 
the  day  you  go  to  make  your  apologies,  my  word  for  it,  you'll 
meet  your  match.  It's  a  long  score  the  same  mademoiselle 
has  to  settle  with  you.  You  couldn't  even  tell  her  you  were 
in  love  with  her,  because  she  wasn't  in  love  with  you.  ko, 
faith,  such  humiliation  wouldn't  suit  your  loftiness  at  alL 
You  couldn't  stoop  to  conquer,  stooping  wouldn't  agrée  with 
a  gentleman  of  so  high  a  stomach.  But  you  could  ask  her 
to  marry  you,  because  my  lady  Windsor  set  her  flinty  old 
heart  on  it.  You  took  her  when  she  said  y  es,  because  she 
Jare  not  say  no,  satisfied  you  had  nothing  to  do  but  make 
her  fall  in  love  with  you  at  your  leisure.  And  then  this  fine 
popirjay  of  a  Irenchman  cornes  on  the  carpet,  with  hia  . 
superflue  airs  and  grâces,  and  because  she  knew  him  ail  her 
life,  and  was  his  sister  in  a  way,  and  they  hâve  secrets  be- 
tween  them  that  she  won't  betray,  you  lose  your  head,  and 
make  a  foof,  ay,  and  a  rascal  of  yourself,  with  jealousy.  On 
my  wcrd  it's  a  thousand  pitiés  she  didn't  make  a  gênerai  con- 
fession to  you  of  her  whole  life,  seeing  the  fine  way  you  took 
to  win  her  confidence.  And  ail  the  while  any  one  not  aa 
blind  as  a  bat,  or  a  mole,  could  see  it  was  the  other  one  he 


«as  mkd  about,,j|nd  poor  Ma'amselle  Reine — God  lielp  hei 
bofweefi  jre— ^ili^  trying  to  keep  the  peace.     Well,  well,  'tii 


^^■ 


.  /■ 


0*SULUVAN  SPEAKS. 


♦13 


^•,?^«- ,  ^°"  '^^^'^  'ost  her  and  you  deserve  it,  a„d  I 
wouldn  t  wish  my  worst  enerny  a  greater  punish.nent.     Foi 

LTk'  *ïf '"^  ^^  *  '''^'■''  """^  ^"^  f^^^*^"''  P"^«  ^nd  good, 
that  heart  is  Reine  Landelle's." 

O'Sullivan  pauses,  not  for  lack  of  indignant  words,  but  '31 

sheer  want  of  breath.    And  still  Longworth  sits.  his  face 

hidden,  and  says  nothing.      What  is  there  to  say?     He  is 

heanng  the  truth,  and  it  matters  little  if  O'SuIhvan's  lip, 

speak  aloud  the  sUent  cry  of  conscience  and  despair.     He 

istens,  and  feels  no  more  inclined  to  resent  what  he  listens 

to,  than  ,f  some  old,  white-haired  mother  stood  hère  in  this 

man  s  place  reproaching  hi,n.     Only  once  he  looks  up  and 

■^'rii  "°.  '"T"'  ^  ^°"**  °^  ^"^'y  wonderklone  in  his  tone. 
JWhatl  O'SullivanI"   he^  says.     '«Were  you  her  lover 

"And  if  I  had  been,"  cries  O'Sullivan,  fiercely,  «  my  word 
It  s  another  sort  of  lover  l'd  hâve  been  than  you.  Fd  hâve 
misted  the  girl  I  was  going  to  make  my  wife  ;  l'd  not  Uve 
been  the^first  to  make  out  a  case  against  her  and  hunt  her 
down.  Oh,  faith  !  ifs  to  a  fine  market  you  hâve  driven  your 
pigs,  Mr  Longworth,  and  ifs  yourself  is  the  lucky  man  ail 
out  this  blessed  niorning  !  " 

"O'Sullivan.  let  this  end.  I  will  listen  to  no  more.  You 
hâve  a  right  to  speak,  but  even  your  right  bas  its  Umit  WiU 
you  tell  I  le  where  she  is  ?" 

"  You  may  take  your  oath  l'II  not  I  " 
"  She  is  safe  and  well,  at  least  ?  "  ' 

"  A  good  deal  safer  and  better  than  you  ever  tricd  to  make 
her,  and  that  same's  not  saying  much." 

"  Will  you  tell  nie  how she  isprovided for?  Corne,  Q-SulU- 
^n,  try  and  be  n.erciful.     I  hâve  been  her  enemy/you  hei 
^"^^■^^g^^M  to  be  gengroiu.    Whereia Ac,  %n4  - 


wSat  is  shê  gôihg  to  do  ?" 

Something  oUhat  Longworth  feels  and  suffers  is  in  his  face 
Wd  voice,  and  the  O'Sullivan  bas  an  «tremcly  tonde,  beait 


'4'. 


414 


0*SULUVAN  SP&AKS, 


He  can  imagins  what  it  n)ust  Le  like  to  bave  w«n  ud  Ijil 
Reine  Laiidelle.     " 

"She  is  in  New  York,"  he  answers,  grumblingly,  Imt  stiL 
conciliated.  "  She  is  with  a  friend  of  mine»  and  she  is  goir^j 
t»  eam  an  honest  living  for  herself.  I  promised  to  tell  you 
aothing,  and  I  hâve  told  you  more  thao  you  hâve  a  right  to 
know." 
"  Prpmised  her  ?  " 

*  Who  else  ?    Ifs  little  pity  or  pardon  she  has  for  you,  let 
5  teU  you,  or  ever  wilL     She  wiU  never  forgive  you  until 
her  dying  day— those  are  her  words,  and  much  aàoà.  ma» 
they  dô  you."  i  '  . 

Longworth  rises  as  if  goaded  beyond  ail  endurance,  and 
begins  striding  up  and  down.  O'SuUivan  stands  and  watches 
hun,  grim  satisfaction  on  every  feature,  and  yet  with  a  sort 
of  reluctant  compassion  struggling  through. 

"Ifs  more  than  you  deserve,"  he  says,  still  grumblingly, 
"and  veiy  likely  it  is  little  shc'll  thank  me;  but  if  you'll 
Write  a  letter  to  her,  l'il  forward  it.  The  greatest  criminal, 
they  say,  ought  to  get  a  hearing." 

"  And  hâve  it  returned  unopened •  " 

"Ohl"  says  O'Sullivan,  conteniptuously  turning  away, 
"if  you  take  Ihat  tone,  I  hâve  no  more  to  say.  Faith  !  it*/ 
return  it  unopened  she  ought,  and  every  letter  you  ever  write 
to  her,  and  unless  I  ivm  mistaken  in  her,  it  is  what  she'll  do." 

"Stay,  O'Sullivan— you We  right.  If  itis  returned  unopen- 
ei',  as  you  say,  it  will  bel»o\iiiore  than  I  deserve.     To-nighl 

jrou  shall  hâve  it,  and  whateVer  the  resuit " 

He  does  not  finish  the  sentence,  and  so  they  pari.  O'Sul 
ttvan  goes  to  his  work  prepared  to  nicet  and  baffle  the 
curiosity  of  Baymouth,  with  extremely  short  and  unsatisfac- 
tory  answers. 

Loogwortb^  writea^is  letter,  And  findd  it^the  moat  difliuuU 
o€  ail  the  thousands  he  has  ever  written.  It  is  long,  it  ii 
tlMiuect;  an  impassioned  prayet  (or  pafd'o  a»d  recondli 


a  u 


O'SULL/FAAf  SPEAX3. 


415 


«lon-jnot  »l  once,  that  is  impossible-when  time  and  par, 
ng  shall  hâve  softened  his  offenses.  If  he  had  loved  hl 
ess  he  nnght  we^have  been  more  gênerons,  he  tells  h  , 

he  shows  her  h.s  heart  as  he  has  never  hun.b kd  himLf   < 

^r    I^^    ^if-l!--^'^ -P-aches  hâve  not  b::^ 
>'a.n.     His  pnde  mil  never  stand  betweeh  theni  more      II .. 
.content  to  wait  her  o.n  good  time,  he  wiU  not  ik  to  " 

it  "het^  dS  tt;  tT^eirr  ^^^^"" 
acknowledgehissin,andcravepLo::  '  ''  ^  ^°'^ 

r..h  "  ""  7,"^^  '°  ^""^  '^"'"-     ^^-  O-Sullivan  opens  his 

J/lr  *'*''^  ^"^  '^^'^P'  *^"*  >'*^'  ^*^"  he  remarks,  "  m 
take  hem  Vm  not  a  rich  man  and  cannot  afford  to  ruin 
myself  entirely  in  postage.- 

of  the  situation,  and  takes  it  to  the  post-office.     As  he  enter 

m  h     hand,  and  a  pale,  intense  expression  on  his  f^e 
OfSulhvan  looks  after  him  curiously.  ' 

«  There  is  something  wrong  with  that  young  man  and  ii 
rm  not  greatly  .nistaken  Mademoiselle  Marie'h^  a  C  Jn 
the  business.     Upon  my  life  there's  no  end  to  the  troub  c 
and  vexation  of  mind  thèse  young  women  make.     TherJ' 
Ungworth,  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  1  fc 

^  eLr^H  ''  •^''  •"  'T  '^  '°^^^  ^^"^  «^-  "^ '^ 
ÏTn  T  \v  Î^  "  ^°""«  ^'**^'''  *  f^"°^  that  was  full  of 
fiin  and  rolhck.ng  good  humor  as  an  Irishman  at  a  wak^ 

for  Ws  own  tTTmb-stone.  And  hère  am  I.  Oh  I  may  I  never. 
rf  «  «sn't  true  that  the  less  we  hâve  to  do  with  tW  ûl 
mier,  and  better,  and  hapj>ier  we*!!  bfc" 


^i^Wl£^Î.j,.>-  ^ 


Afl»*.^* 


V  , 


«i6 


O* SULLIVAN  SF£AJr£ 


The  oblong  perfumed,  pale^pink  lette»  is  from  Marie 
Frank  tear^s  ii  open  the  moment  he  is  out  of  the  oflBce,  and 
ffads  this  : 

"I  trust  you,  Mr.  Dextèr,  chiefly  beçausel  cannot  help 
nafsel^' and  a  little  because  it  is  your  right  I  haJ  honte' 
n«»er  to  hear  the  words  you  spoke  last  night,  but  they  havo 
been  spoken,  and  I  must  answer.  1  am  not  what  you  and 
eveiy  one  hère  hâve  thought  me,  1  am  nbt  MademuiseUe 
Landelle — I  am;  and  hâve  been,  for  the  past  six  months,  th» 
wife  of  Léonce  Durand." 

Frank  is  in  the  streat  ;  people  aie  passing,  and  they  tum 
and  look  curiously  at  the  yquog  man  who  has  corne  tb  a 
stand'Still,  staring  at  the  letter  he  hoids,  with  blanched  face 
<ind  hortor  in  his  eyes.'  For  a  moment  he  stands  stunned, 
paralyzed  by  the  blow  he  has  been  struck,  unheéding  the 
starers  who  pass  him,  Then  some  one— he  never  know* 
who-^ays  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  addresses  him." 

He  shakes  off  the  hand  blindly,  crushes  the  letter  in  hia 
grasp,  and  hurries  on. 

"Léonce  Durand's  wife!"  As  the  thought  had  once 
struck  Longworth  riiute  and  desperate,  so  it  strikes  Frank 
'now.  Léonce  Durand's  wife  !  the  words  écho  in  a  dull  sort 
of  stiipor  through  his  myid.  AU  the  time  he  is  hurrying  for- 
ward,  and  when  he  stops  he  sees  that  he  has  left  the  busy 
•treets  behind  him,  and  has  reached  a  place  where  he  can 
read  alone  and  unobserved.  He  unfolds  the  lettei  again 
»nd  f  nishes  i*^   . 

"  l  married  Léonce  Durand' on  the  day  I  quitted  London, 
and  came  hère  concealing  the  fact,  because  I  knew  my 
grandmother  would  not  admit  within  her  doors  a  giand- 
daughter  who  was  the  wife  of  a  Frenchman  I  hâve  oo  ex. 
euseto^aake  for  that  ^Ifishaîidroerecnœiycôncêâ^^ 
it  has  made  Reine  its  victim,  and  now  you,  1  liked  you 
•nd  it  pleased  me  to  recei  e  your  attentions;  my  own  hcaii 


A  -i 


.^^ 


'\*^fTH BMpîrtED  ARMS,-  ETC.  4|> 

ontouphed,  and— oh  I  let  m..  «-«  ;» 

•^r  yo«  wiU  .peedil,  forge.  o„e  l  ZXT    ""  *° 
_.  "  Marik  Durand." 

Frank  Dex.«  „  ne^e^  V"  'f  "  "«T  <"  !•=«  >k» 
«».«.rdow.  on  U,e'C»o™  <i^i," j::'!;,  t"'"^ 
ta»  arm,  and  so  lie.  like  a  «one  '  «'^  *"'  *>"  o» 

twilignt  thB  too  giows  gray,  and  darkness  into  niah(  Tk- 
*y  ha.  lit  lu  al,er  lamp.  long  before  he  Y,ft^lx\' a  . 
rUe.  *wly,  feeUng  chilled  an!  S  ^^tj^l'^f  "f 

«»««  u  gonc,  to  return  no  more.  '^ 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

"WITH   EMPTiÈd  ARMS  AND  TRKASUM   LOST." 

her  warm,  brightiy' lighted,  favorite  sitting-room 


5ate^  that  sanie  evening,  Mrs.  WfndsDr^r 

alone.     Ii  is  the  first  time   she  has  corne  dom, 
•tair»  «nce  the  robbeiy.  '^ 

The  sluxk  to  hcr  nerves  has  bcen  great,  Uie  ov..t,1o.,  ot 


'.< 

f 

• 

É 

■\ 


418 


•^WITH  EMFTIEDr  ARJUS,"  ETC. 


ddoroform  Hm  injared  her  ;   shè  looks  eveiy  Jajr  ci  h* 
sixty-five  years  as  she  sits  hère 

Lying  in  her  room  alone,  ail  the  long,  silent,  lonely  dajrs, 
she  has  bruoded  over  the  base  ingratitude  and  thorough  bad 
ness  o(  her  younger  granddaughter,  until  anger  turns  to 
(wsitive  hatred.  And  Mrs.  Windsor  is  a  thorpughly  consist- 
ent woman — those  she  hâtes  once,  she  hâtes  always.  Hei 
'ikings  are  few,  and  in  most  cases  slight  ;  her  dislikings  are 
»tiong  and  deep,  bitter  and  enduring.  Sit'ting  hère,  the  face 
of  a  Sphinx  could  hardly  look  more  cold,  and  hard,  and 
gray.  It  lights  up  for  a  moment  with  the  customary  pleas- 
are  as  Mr.  Longworth  enters. 

"  It  is  two  whole  days  since  you  hâve  beeq  hère,"  she 
sajrs,  "  but  I  grow  a  very  old  woman,  and  must  not  exact 
attention.    Sit  down.    Do  you  know  that  Marie  has  corne?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answers  briefly,  and  understands  that  Marie 
has  discreetly  kept  secret  her  visit  to  the  office.  Some- 
Aing  in  his  face  and  tone,  some  subtie  change,  strikes  her. 
Shr  looks  at  him  attentively. 

\^î^at  is  it,  Laurence  ?  "  she  asks.  "  Is  it,"  she  siti 
erect  with  sudden  vindictive  eagemesâ,  '*  is  it  that  that  thief 
Durauf  t^.J  been  taken ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  at  ail  of  Durand.  I  havç  heard  notl.- 
ing  ;  it  is  of  Reine  I  hâve  heard — of  Reine  I  haye  coinc  te 
speak." 

"  I  wish  to  hear  nothing  of  hei,  not  even  her  name.  Of 
thb  two,  if  I  had  to  choose  between  them,  I  would  let  LJr 
Tilain  Durand  escape,  and  punish  her." 

"  Madaiii,  yqu  are  unjust  ;  we  hâve  both  been  unjust,  anA 
aiost  cruel.  Reine  Landelle  is  innocent  of  ail  wrong,  of  ail 
kuowledgt-i  or  participation  in  this  crime.  No  better,  purer 
itubler  heurt  than  herl  Jcats  to-day." 


""Vnrd  hu.  been  tëirjngTyou  this  r*  she^^ay^  disdainftilly 
**  What  bctS  become  cf  yoiir  customary  practical  good  sensé, 
that  -f'M  b'.-lie'  e  it  ?    Ha«e  you  th«p  been  reall|r  io  lov"  wiil 


i^ 


^i'^'^s.. 


she 


\ 


-k       y  -  WITH  EMPTIED  ARMS^n   ''^j,^  '    ' '^^ 

tW.  ^,  that  you  are  so  eager  tp  find  and  ur.ke  excus„  f™ 

bclieye  it."  ^  "  ^^'^  ^*>''  ^  s'>^-  begin  ta 

^^"  You  .„ay  believe  it    I  hâve,  and  do  love  J,er  with  IJ 

"  And  joubelieveher  innocent?"  ^ 

"  MadW  I  knowr  her  innocent  " 

hl  CSit;.^  ""  °™  >ck„owed  je„,,„'r  ;:„r,"::; 

^e  .»ay  ha,e  eold  him;  an\D„rand,  in  need  of  „oner 
aj  knowmg  how  easUy  ,he  uAc„„,d  be  effec.ed,  JS 

yond  d,,^  I  an,  read,  .o  stake  mv  life  A.  k„ew  nothing 
And  ne,,  day,  when  pi,aessly  accu«d,  d,.  had  only  f„ 

loved.    bhe  nobly  chose  silence " 

Mrs.  WinJ.or's  short,  scornful  laugh  interrnpts  him. 
Brother»       she  repeats,   with   infinité  contempt.      "I 
feor  you  hâve  been  workedtOQhard  i,,  J^^ 

.'tnce.  durine  the  ahsi.n^«  «r •  .     /      .    .  "*^»^^«a 


^g  of  dw  brain  a  the  con^quen».    BrotiKi  I  »  4,  |a„*, 
utincaily  again.  ^'V* 


••a^ 


WITH  LjiP7i:LL  ARMSt"*.  AliX. 


Longworth's  face  does  rot  change  ;  he  waitr  quiciiy  Ibf  • 
moment,  then  résume j  : 

"  She  chose  silence  rathei  than  betray  the  friend,  tbe 
biother  with  whom  her  llfe  '  xd  been  spert.  a.nd  whom  in 
spite  of  misdeeds  she  loved " 

"Ahl"  Mrs.  Windsor  says,  with  ever-iucreasing  scnm 
**  Loved  I  now  you  draw  near  the  truth." 

"  Loved,  Longworth  goes  on,  "but  not  as  a  lovei — of 
that  I  hâve  proof.  Fiom  first  to  last  she  has  been  sinne(' , 
against,  not  sinning.  For  you  who  never  cared  for  her,  who 
always  distrusted  her,  some  excuse  may  be  found;  foi  me 
who  loved  her,  and  while  loving  proved  niyself  her  worst 
enemy,  there  can  be  none.  I  will  never  forgive  myself  for 
my  dastardly  conduct  to  Reine  LandeUe  to  my  dying  day." 

"Laureqce  Longworth,  you  are  a  fooil"  exclaims  Mrs 
iWindsor,  exasperated  for  once  out  of  ail  her  cool  grandi 
dame  m3t.nncr.  I  know  what  allthis  means.  The  man  O' Sul- 
livan, the  companion  of  that  misérable  girl's  flight,  has  re- 
turned.  Ile  is  a  soft-hearted,  soft-htaded  simpleton,  and 
l»elieVeseverytl\ing*sbe  tells  him  no  doubt.  Hehas  talked  to 
you,  he  has  brought  you  a  letter  from  her,  a  long  and  elab- 
orate  explanation,  and  you,  in  love  by  your  own  showing, 
and  so  with  half  your  comnion  sensé  gone,  only  too  willing 
to  be  duped.  Up  to  to-night  I  hâve  always  respected  you  as 
a  man  of  exceptionally  rational  mind  and  unbiased  |^gment 
— I  find  yoù  no  better  than  Frank  Dexter  or  any  other 
nioonstruck  boy  in  love." 

"  I  regret  to  lose  your  good  opinion,  madam,  but  if  I  inust 
chbose  between  its  loss,  and  persisting  in  the  greatest  niis- 
take  of  tny  life,  then  I  hâve  no  alternative.  ,  I  owe  her  thii 
retraction.  1  must  hâve  been  mad  indeed  whei.  I  couid  look 
in'.j  her  truthful  and  innocent  face  and  tKfnk  her  capable  of 
guilt"  Woofi  of  her  innocence,  ôrhêrfârë  and  hëroic  ïibbiJ 
ity  of  charactef.  bave  been  given  me,  proofs  impossible  te 
(LkAa  ;  and  for  the  future  the  aim  of  tny  life  shall  be  to 


.>"  • 


L\lL>6/  t 


scnrn 


-  WITB  BJtfTtBC  AJfMS,"  STC.  4JI 

>/  I  car,    the  forgivèness  of  the  girl   1   hâve   so  etosdi 

He  sp«aks  with  tmotion.  W-th  every  passing  hour— witk 
fvery  review  of  the  past,  he  is  feeling  more  and  more  keenh 
how  brutally  he  I^^as  acted,  how  blinded  by  passion  he  «U3» 
•lave  been.  Mfs.  Windsor  listens  to  him,  the  grav,  stony  îool 
"aking-herstern  face  rigid,  l)er  lips  closed  in  one  tight,  omin 
ous  line.  She  still  sits  silently  staring  at  him  for  a  moment 
After  he  has  ceased— then  she  slowly  speaks.^ 

«Does  ail  this  meabn,  Mr.  Longworth,  that  you  intend  to 
lollow  the  girl  and  rtiarry  her  ?  " 

"Ther^l^is  no  such  hope  for  me,  madam.  If  therè  were. 
the  dévotion  of  my  whole  lifc  would  be  insufficient  to  atone 
Through  my  own  folly  I  hâve  lost  her  forever." 

"Bah  !  Keep  your  fine  periods  for  the  leaders  of  the  Phe- 
ntx.  I  ask  you  a  plain  question— give  mç  a  plain  answer  : 
Do  you  mean  to  marry  Reine  I.andellc  ?"  * 

"Wherever  and  whenever  she  wiU  do  me  that  honor." 

••  In  the  face  of  her  intimacy  with  the  blackleg,  gambler. 
robber,  Durand?" 

"Madam,"   Longworth  says,  with  difficulty    keeping  his  ' 
temper,  "  the  intimacy,  as  you  cal!  it,  was  that  of  a  sister  «ho 
loves  and  sr  reens  a  diireputable  brother." 

She  laughs  once  more  as  she  listeps-a  short,  mirthless, 
most  bitter  laugh. 

"  And  this  is  the  man  I  thought  wisX  with  the  wisdon.  of 
old  âge  even  in  youth,  the  màn  I  bave  busted,  and  consult.^ 
ed,  and  loved  as  my  own  son.    At  one  word  from  this  girl 
he  18  ready  to  overlook aU  thîdgs  and  take  her  back.    S«reJr 
this  is  besotted  madness  indeed.  ' 

Longworth  rises. 
.    '^c  had  better  part,  madam/'  he  says,  quigtly.    i'Ihavt 
deservëd  tp  heai  this  from  you,  but  the  hearing  îs  nonè^  the  "~ 
lesi  unpleasant     I  hâve  told  you  we  were  both  wfong,  thaf 
•he  has  been  naost  cruelly  tre^ted  from  first  to  Ust,  and  tha/ 


*fe  *}-i,    V 


♦«»  •WtTH  EMPTIED  AXâfS,"  STt, 

-ny  Uk  shall  be  spent,  so  far  u  she  wiU  allow  m  s.  in  reMn 
tion."  *^ 

"One  last  word,"'she  exclaims,  rising  and  holding  by  ih, 
back  of  her  chair.  "  Let  us  un Jerstand  one  another  befort 
we  part.  Ani  I  to  believe  it  is  your  fixed  and  unalterable 
détermination  to  marry  this  girl  ?  " 

"  It  is  tny  fixed  and  unalterable  détermination " 

"  Wait  one  moment.  I  see  you  are  impatient,  but  I  will 
ne  t  detain  you  long.  The  will  I  spoke  of  to  you  some  montlis 
«go  still  stands  as  it  stood  then.  You  are  my  heir— need  I  sa, 
that  Reine  Landelle  and  the  man  who  marries  her  shall  nevci 
possess  a  farthing  of  nriffe  ?  " 
Longworth  bows  haughtily 

"  Do  me  the  justice,  madam,  to  recall  that  on  the  occasion 
you  speak  of  I  declined  your  bounty.  Permit  me  for  myself 
and  my  future  wife,  if  she  ever  so  far  forgives  me  to  become 
my  wife,  once  more  and  finally  to  décline  it." 

He  moves  decisi^ely  to  the  door.  She  stUl  stands  and 
watches  hiin  with  drearily  nngry  eyes. 

"  And  this  is  the  gratitude  of  man,"  she  says  half  to  herself. 
"I  loved  him  almost  as  I  once  loved  my  own  son,  and  see 
how  he  relurns  that  love." 

He  turns  instantly  and  cornes  back.  He  offers  his  hand, 
but  she  waves  it  away. 

"  For  that  love  I  thank  you,"  he  says  ;  "  for  the  trust  and 
affection  with  which  yoH  hâve  honored  me,  I  arn  most  grate- 
ful.  But  you  must  see  that  no  alternarive  remains  but  le 
displease  you.  l  hâve  done  your  grânddaiigh ter  a  crue! 
iTîong-if  she  were  an  utter  stranger,  much  less  ihc  woman  J 
love,  Il  would  bc  tny  duty  to  make  atonement.  I  am  sorry 
me  must  pat  iU  friends,  but  if  I  hâve  to  choose  between  you 
then  I  choose  her."  ' 

Win<?sor  criés. 


'Ml 


wish  to  hear  nn 


mote^  X 


have  been  a  foolTïSHTiave  receivf  d  a  fool's  reward.     If  thf 
lay  ever  conies  when  wisdoni  rtturns  *o  you,  you  may  vifi 


l 


:yrir 


'\ 


>*  mra  èmftird  jjtMs,-  src. 


4i3 


■e  tpxD,  «nd  I  will  ti^  j:o  forghre  you.     If  it  doc*  not,  thii 
patting  shall  be  fbrèver." 

"  Good-by,  then,"  he  says  ;  "  for  it  is  for',ver  I  ' 
^     He  takes  one  last  glance,  half  kindly,  half  regret fuMy 
around  the  pietty  room,  one  last  look  at  the  stern,  mt|)enou&, 
white-haired  «roman,  whose  life  disappointment  bas  embit 
tered  and  soured,  and  then  the  door  opens  and  closes,  \nà 
he  is  gone. 

"  *  Misfortunes  come  not  in  single  spies,  but  in  battalions,'  * 
he  quotes,  grimly,  and  then  a  hand  is  laid  upon  his  aria,  ahd 
:.«  turns  to  see  the  pale,  anxious  face  of  Marie. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  says  under  her  breath. 

"  It  was  not  at  ail  wdl,"  he  answers  briefly;  "she  U 
implacable.     How  has  she  received  you  ?  " 

"  Coldly,  but  not  so  much  more  coldly  than  usuaL  You 
hâve  told  her " 

"That  Reine  is  guiltfifcs.  Fear  nothing;  she  does  not 
suspect  you,  she  does  not  dream  we  hâve  met  She  lays  the 
blâme  of  my  changed  convictions  upon  O'Sullivan.  If  you 
are  careful,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  be^  my  dismissal  and  dis- 
grâce may  be  <rf  the  utmost  service  to  you  eventually." 

The  touch  of  wtire  in  his  Jone  makes  her  wince.  But  she 
does  not  resent  it  She  speaks  and  looks  humbled  and 
shamefaced. 

*'  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I  deserve  your  contempt — more 
than  your  contempt  ;  but  I  think  if  you  knew  what  I  suflFer, 
even  you  would  spare  me.  I  want  to  write  to  Reine,  I  hâve 
written — will  you  give  me  her  address  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  it.     She  is  in  I^rew  York,  O'Sut'.ivan  teUa 
me,  safe  and  well,  with  friends  of|  his.     But  her  addrëb  he 
will  not  give — it  is  her  own  conimand.     Give  me  your  letter, 
and  he  will  forward  it."    ^ 
— S&fiJiands^ii  to  him,  ajid  stands-looking  «e-down<;att-aad- 


■onuwful  t'iat  it  touches  him 
**  Do  DOt  blanie  yourself  too  much."  he  nyi,  kindl) 


Wc 


•# 


♦«4  "^^TH  EMPTIED  ARMS^»  àTC 


-ave  ail  been  wrong,  but  regrets  are  useless.  To  -n  fa 
human,  and  we  hâve  ail  shown  ourselves  very  Immaa  To 
forgive  is  divine,  and  knowing  your  sister  as  I  kn  w  het  nom 
I  hâve  a  conviction  she  will  one  day  forgive  us." 

She  lifts  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  he  sees  tears  ircmbKiu 
in  the  gold  brown  beauty  of  their  depths. 

«Monsieur,-  she  falters,  «is  there  any  sort  of  news  of- 

«Durand?    None,  I  am   thankful   to  say.     He  is  too 

2?r.V'f  J  ?  ^  ""«'''•     ^^"  y°"^  "^d  easy,  they 
wfll  not  find  him."  -^ 

«  What  a  wretch  you  must  think  him,"  she  says,  covering 
her  face,  with  a  sort  of  sob  ;  "  and  yet  he  is  not.  A  gam- 
bler  he  m^y  be-that  is  his  besetting  passion,  but  a  thief-oh  I 

°°^r'  l^.^*"  ''  "°^  ^^^*-  ^y  g°^»g  «^"h  Mrs.  Dexter 
maddened  him-he  wanted  to  f^low,  to  do  perhaps  some 
desperate  deed,  and  in  that  despe/àtion  he  entered  and  stole 
this  money.  It  has  been  all|ny  fault  from  first  to  last.  How 
AaU  I  answer  to  Heav^#d  to  him  for  the  sin  I  hâve 
done  r  4|f    '► 

*'poh't  ciy,"  Lon^rth  says,  uneasily.  He  has  ail  a 
man  s  nervous  terror^a  woman's  tears,  but  he  thinks  better 
ofMane  Durand  ii^his  hour  than  he  has  ever  done  beforé. 

There  .s  one  tMng  I  would  like  to  say  to  you.  if  I  may 
without  pammg  you.     It  concerns  Frank  Dexter." 

She  shrink^at  the  name  ;  pain  and  shame  are  in  the  face 
mi  averts  frohi  his  searching  eyes. 

'«Itis  thîs:  Don't  fool  the  poor  boy  any  longer.  You 
dcn  t  mean  anything  by  it,  of  course,  but  it  may  be  a  sort  of 
death  to  hnn.  It  is  amazing  the  amount  of  harm  a  coquette 
can  do  a  young  fellow  like  Dexter,  and  without  much  mean 
ing  to  hurt  hmi  either.  Make  him  go  ;  and  to  make  hinu  1 
■m  tfraid  you  must  tell  hfm- 


^ravéloIdTiim,-  Se  interrupts,  in  a  stifled  voice. 
Sol*   Loogworth  tays,  and  looks  at  her  keenly. 


Hfl 


('. 


amel  truth.  «Poor  boyj"  he  says,  rather  bitterly,  "h. 
misted  you  so  imphatly.  thought  you  hardly  lower  fhan  the 
aogelj—itishard  Unes  for  hin:." 

«.fn!/!!-"  k'  ""^  *''  '^""'"S  •"  ^''^  »^°*'.  ^hen  he  had 
^ened  h.s  heart  to  hin,  in  one  of  his  boyish  outbursrs,  and 

ïears    for  the  wrongs  she  cannot  set  right. 
"M-T*^^  °"?''*  *°  ''^"S  coquettes!"  he  thinks,  savagely. 
Fhrtat.on  should  be  n,ade  a  capital  offense.  punishabTe  by 

^rSrÎ''''''r^^"-  ^°°^^^^"^'  PoorDurand! 
^  th7.T  ^^  r^*^  '°^"^  ^°™P^"y  »here  are  enough  of  us, 
«d  that  'queen  hlyand  rose  in  one'  at  the  bottom  of  itall." 

C*Vh»H     «"*"'.*  '^^^  ""g«  Mrs.  Windsor's  door-bell,  and 

She  Z!  T'''  l  "°'''  "''*^  ^'^^  ^^'^^  '-  Miss  Marie. 
She  tums  pale  as  she  opens  it.     It  is  Frank  Dexter's  farc 

lorget  a  woman  without  heart  or  conscience.     Yôu  do  net  ask  m*  to 
fojve  yoju  and  you  do  weU-I  will  „ever  do  it.     A   to  yo'r  ^«1 

a  relief  to  you  to  Imow  it  ;  and  in  saying  farewell    r  »i<=„     •  i.  a 

your  husband  aU  the  hap,^»»  »  "rL^^^r!'  T  "^ 

^^^^^^^  u.|,puiciii  M  weu  assorted  a  union  cannot  fail  te 

wui    „    .    .  "Frank  Dextmu" 

has  sown    Mr.  I^ngworth  is  on  his  way  through  the  dark 
««.  to  the  house  of  Hester  Hariott.     He  sn,o.es  alhe  goe. 

bT^o  !«  ?        T^  °"'  '°'  décapitation  his  last  act  would 
be  to  smoke  on  the  scaffold.     A  cloud  has  re  ,ted  between 


fl»  h,/i  fe>  ;»  1.-  — ■  "•",  ^^^'  """-g  «.f  me  s  clepartttfgr 
Mie  nid  raced  hun  upon  h.s  first  call  at  the  cottage  aAe, 
tluit  event,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  am'  te» 
PMUiou«ly  demtnd«.J  if  this  shameful  ttoiy  were  trje  * 


iiijîSbwî#;^*^?;'>.:.'.<.  ...^  _ 


4*» 


-  WtTH  EMFTIED  ARitS,*  BTC, 


"VSThat  ator>'  ?"  Longworth  had  asked,  wearily  thr«wii»| 
blmself  into  a  chair.  He  kuew  there  would  be  a  scène,  anc 
shrank  from  it  impatiently.  ] 

"This  horrible,  this  cruel  story  that  Reine  Landelle  lia»- 
had  to  run  away,  her  only  friend  in  the  world  that  poot 
litde  O'Sullivan,  and  you—^ûu,  Laurence,  chief  among  her 
accusera." 

He  tries  to  explain — tries  to  défend  himself.  She  listens, 
the  angry  color  deepening  in  her  face,  the  angry  light  shin- 
ing  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  this  is  Laurence  Longworth  !  "  she  exclaiais  ;  *'  thii 
man  who  hunts  down  a  defenseless  girl,  whose  two  worst 
crimes  are  that  she  has  «promised  to  marry  him,  and  that  she 
ii  :oo  brave  to  défend  herself  at  the  expense  of  another  1  thif 
man  who  takes  sides  with  a  heartless  old  woman,  knowing  her 
to  be  raerciless  as  only  one  woman  can  be  to  another,  whose 
yearsandgray  hairs  hâve  brought  her  neither  charity  toward 
Goû  or  man  f  Oh  I  shame,  shame  !  I  refused  to  believe 
It — I  ould  not  believe  it  ;  and  now,  out  of  your  own  mouth 
fou  stand  condemned  I  " 

He  tries  to  speak,  pale,  troubled,  every  word  stabbing 
lim,  but  she  will  not  listen. 

*'  You  could  look  in  her  face  and  doubt  her — that  true 
brave,  innocent  child's  face.  You  could  know  her  nearly 
six  months,  and  believe  her  capable  of  treachery  and  crime. 
Oh  !  man,  shame  upon  you  !  I  tell  you  that  if  my  own  eyes 
aaw,  my  own  ears  heard,  I  would  not  believe  their  évidence, 
if  she  told  me  they  deceived  me.  If  Reine  is  false,  then 
theie  is  no  truth  left  on  earth.  Only  the  night  she  fled— 
ùriven  away  homeless,  friendless,  penniless,  by  you  and  that 
«roman — she  came  hère  to  me,  ail  her  misery  in  her  despair 
ing  face,  i»oor,  poor  child  !  ail  her  heart-break  in  her  beau 
tifiU  eyes,  and  talked  to  me  of  her  old  home  in  France,  an  j 


Bie  Tirôflier  shéTovèd— full  bf  fauFis  to  cthefs  but  alwayi 
4car  to  her.     She  had  not  todched  food  ail  day,  the  wm 


I       "  mrn  bmptird  arms,"  src.  ^vs 

Éunting  with  fasting.  and  we  sat  together  in  that  loom,  and 
»he  took  soinething  before  she  went  away.  If  I  »iad  onl> 
known,  doyou  think  she  wîould  hâve  gone-do  /ou  think  I 
would  hâve  let  her  go  ?  ÇTr  if  her  disgrâce  and  misai >  were 
too  great  to  be  borne  hère,  do  you  thiiik  I  would  not  hâve 
tSone  with  her  ?  Your  Mr.  O'SuIUvan  is  a  true  friend  and  a 
gallant  gentlemin,  and  when  he  returns,  my  first  act  will  be 
togo  to  your  office  and  thank  hira.     For  you,  I  ara  youi 

^^^^  °°:^!![!3?  **"*  ^°  ^^^  >'*'"  ''^'■^  "°  '"ore.  1  viU 
never  beljgm^n  that  there  is  honor  or  common  sensé  lett 
m  iiortyHBp. 

"  Wharr^jjongworth  says  with  rather  a  dreary  smile 
"not  even  in  O'Sullivan ? "  He  rises  as  he  says  it  and  take» 
hi«  hat  "  We  hâve  been  good  friends  for  many  years,  Miss 
Hester,  but  I  never  liked  you  so  well  as  I  do  to-night.  I 
may  hâve  been  wrong— Heaven  knows— passion  and  jeal 
ousy  may  hâve  blinded  me  as  you  say,  but  I  thought  I  was 
nght  If  I  hâve  made  a  mistake,  then  Heaven  help  me,  for 
I  hâve  ruined  and  lost  forever  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life." 

And  so  he  goes,  and  Hester  Hariott  lays  her  head  on  hêi 
»nn  and  cries  inipetuous,  sorrowfui  tears  for  the  friends  she 
bas  lost 

They  hâve  not  met  since,  and  now  he  is  on  his  way  to  tell 
her  that  she  was  right,  he  wrong. 

Candace  admits  hini.  Yes,  her  missis  is  at  home,  and  he 
enters  without  ceremony  the  familiar  room.  MisF  Hariott  ii 
«ingmg,  but  not  very  cheerfully,  and  he  catchef  the  wordi 
«he  sings  : 

"  Thro*  dark  and  dearth,  thro'  fii«  and  froal, 
With  emptied  arms  and  treasure  loat, 
I  bien  Thee  while  my  days  go  on." 


"With  cmptred" arma  âfld  treasure  lost."^   Could  more ir 
ting  words  greet  him  ?    She  rises,  looking  surprised,  trrini 
to  look  displeased,  but  failing.  ' 


WM 


r 


43t 


"  mrfr  ËitPrttù  ahms,"  etc. 


"Hester,"  he  says,  "  I  hâve  corne  back  in  he  ch^actei 
of  the  prodigal,  erring  but  pénitent.  I  hâve  conie  to  owe  1 
hâve  been  a  fool— the  greatest  fool  that  ever  drew  breath'- 
to  tell  you  Reine  Landelle  is  ail  you  hav£  thought  her,  and 
more— noble,  brave,  true,  loving,  and  loyal'  unto  death." 

'  I  knew  it  !  "  Miss  Hariott  cries,  joyfully.     •'  Mr  O'Sul- 

Uvan  is  back,  and  she  has  proved  her  truth.     Thank  Heaven 

•  for  that  !     And  she  will  forgive  you,  and  ail  will  be  well  ?  " 

She  catches  his  hand— it  is  quite  évident  she  at  least  finda 

it  easy  to  forgive  him— and  stands  looking  at  him  with  eagej 

ejrcs.  ,    . 

"  O'SuUivan  is  back,  and  her  truth  is  forever  beyond  a 
ihadow  of  doubt,"  he'answers.  m  But  forgiven— no,  I  am 
net  that,  and  in  ail  likelihood  never  will  te." 

"Nonsense!"  cries  Miss  HAriott,  enei-getically  ;  "don't 
I  know  thefiri.     I  tell  you  she  çould  not-cherish  enmity  if 

sbe  tried,  and  then  she- " 

"  Liked  you  far  too  well,"  is  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  but 
•he  bites  that  unruly  member,  and  stops  short. 

"She  is  very  proud,  you  would  say,"  he  supplément» 
cabnly.  «•  Yes,  and  that  pride  has  received  a  mortal  wound. 
K  far  less  spirited(girl  might  ftnd  forgiveness  hère." 

"  Tell  me  ail  a^wut  it,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  drawing  a  chaii 
close,  and  looking  at  him  delightedly.     «  Where  is  she,  and 
what  does  she  say  ?     Tell  me  ull  Mr.  O'Sullivan  told  you." 
"Rather  a  difficult  and  disagreeable  task,"  he  answers, 
mailing  slightly,     "I  hâve  grown  used  to  cxtremely  plain 
speaking  within  the  last  twelve  hours.     There  is  no  epithet 
iiï  Mr.  O'Sullivan 's  vocabulary  too  hard  tp  apply  to  me. 
Reine  is  well,  he  tells  me  ;  is  in  New  York  with  friends  of 
his,  who  will  be  good  to  her,  und  intends  to  earn  her  own 
living  henceforth— by  teaching,  JE  suppose.     Of  Durant  of 
course  she  knows  nothing.     Her  address  jgguUiv>o  wjU  mu  _ 
cive  i  and— that  is  ail  there  is  to  telL" 
"AU?" 


I  W-- 


^ 


fc«A'.ii.»st 


*  WITM  MMPT/BD  AlUiSi*  MTC, 


449 


Shè  looks  tt  him  searchingly. 

"Ail.  It  yiju  wish  to  write  to  her,  your  leners  xiiist^o 
put  th£  O'Sullivan.  I  think  she  will  be  glad  to  hcâr  frjm 
irou." 

"  You  hâve  ^tten,  Laurence  ?  " 

" Could  I  do  lésa?    I  hâve  a  letter  from  hçr  sister,  to  bt 
.  given  to  O'Sullivan,  at  this  moment  in  my  pocket" 

"Ah  !  you  hâve  béen  at  the  Stone  House  ? " 

"  Just  conie  direct  from  there."'  . 

"And  Madàm  Windsor  ?  " 

"  Refuses  to  listen  to  a  woid.  Mrs.  Windsor  is  withont 
exception  the  Best  hâter  I  know." 

"  And  Marie — what  says  she  t6  ail  this  ?  " 

Again  her  keen  eyes  look  at  him  searchingly,  but  Long- 
worth's  face  wears  its  most  impassiire  expression. 

"She  says  very  little — she  appeârs  to  feel  a  great  deaL  I 
like  her  better  under  a  doud  than  \  ever  did  4n  the.  sïto- 
shine."     •        "  ' 

"  And  she  will  live  with  that  woman  after  Ihe  shamefiil 
manner " 

"Ah,  Miss  Hariott,  as  you  are  strong  be  merciful— in 
hittiiig  Mrs.  Windsor  you  also  knock  nie  over,  reineniber. 
What  is  Marie  tO  do  ?     It  is  her  only  hoiue.     She  's  a  lily' 
of  the  fielcl,  noither  able  to  toil  nor  sjiin  ;  she  w^l  only  add 
to  her  sister's  wretchcdness  if  she  peraiits  hersclf  to  be  cast 
otL    Shf  must  kiss  that  great  lad/s  hand,  and  bc  ilunkful 
for  the  crumbs  that  faïl  frôm  her  table." 
-  Miss  Hariott  impulsively  opens  her  uiouth,  thinks  better 
of  it,  and  gulps  down  some  very  strong  words,     Aftep  ail,  ~ 
frliat  right  has  she  to  cry  out  because  the  worlèl  is  unjujit  and 
■elfisli,  and  the  iimocent  suffers  for  thç  guilty  ?    It  Is  the 
jaoiversal  law  of  the  world.  and  ^e  is  net  strong  enough  to_ 


■et  the  wrong  right. 

She  has  been  unjust  in  her  own  way,  too  ;  she  has  thoughl 
«ooie  vezy  haid  and  bitter  things  of  this  friend  befoie  hei. 


s.*  .\f  J^m 


■>^jf    -i 


430 


-  wrra  emptied  i/tMs,"  etc. 


forgetting  that  whiïe  ahe  saiir ndtk, 

e     m    •  «a*  >  . 


f  «ightci 


~     ■     ■        '      '  — _    _■■■■  ■■■_  ^,^,mwf  wiii.|   ,mw  ■igratcy 

eyes  of  friendship,  he  looked  with  the  blind  vision  of  lové 
She  hâs  misjudged  Hinj,  for  he  has  suffered,  does  Suffer— she 
can  fead  it  in  his  face,  although  in  that  face  to  casual  eyei 
there  is  but  little  change.  .      ' 

t^I-arry,"  she  says,  caressingly, 'and  lays  her  hand  on  hia 
arm,  "  I  hope  you  will  notlet  yourself  feel  this  too  deeply. 
'Tinie  at  last  makes  ail  things  even,   you  know,  and  this, 
hke  more  of  life's  rtiistakes,  is  but  a  question  of  tirae  and 
patience.     I  suppose  there  is  no  loss  that  has  not  its  corn- 
pensatmggain  ;  yourgain  in  this  is  so  thorough  a  knowledge 
of  Reine's  goodness  that  to  doubt  her  a  second  tinie  will  be 
impossible.     You  knowfhei'  as  she  i«,  pure  and  true,  ready  to 
Drave  more  than  death  fo  servç  those  she  loves,  ready  to  perish 
rather  than  break  her  word:     You  will  think  better  of  aU 
women  for  hei  safce— you  will  be  a  better  and  truçr  man 
yourself  for  the  pain  und  loss  of  to-day." 

But  Longworth  does  not  answer.  He  rises,  looking  cold 
and  pale,  and  turns  abniptly  from  her.  There  are  some 
wounds  so  keenly  sensitive  that  the  touch  of  a  feather  makes 
the  whole  body  wince. 

His  good-night  is  brief  and  curt,  and  he  goes  home  slowly 
through  the  dark,  melancholy  night. 

Where  is  she  ?  he  wonders.  What  is  she  doing  alone  in 
that  great  city  ?  Her  image  rises  before  hira  as  he  sa^  he. 
that  day  in  Hester  Hariott's  garden— a  girl  in  gray,  with 
scarlet  breast-knots,  éloquent  face,  and  flashing  eyes,  vowing 
.to  hâte  him  her  whole  life  long.  He  recalls  how  half-adinir- 
uig,  whoUy  amused,  he  stood  and  fell  in  love  with  her,  and 
registered  a  vow  on  his  own  part  to  change  that  hatred,  if 
man  could  do  it.  Time  and  destiny  had  aided  him,  and  in 
thé  very  dawning  of  thé  ove  he  sought  he  had  thrust  it  'rom 
him  with  insuit  and  sconi.     In  the  past  many  ^perienç^,^ 


have  bcen  his,  but  it  îs  reserved  for  this  night  to  teacb  hiii 
vb«^  real  remdrse  and  despair  mean. 


«* 


mmjkÊtBL 


4SI 


CHAFTER  ZXZL 

<  ■       . 

OUBAMD. 

UfE  lias  its  enif*acts  as  well  as  any  other  dxaiûi, 
when  the  drop-curtàin  is  down,  the  play  for  the 
time  over,  and  nothing  is  left  but  to  sit  blankly  and 
wait  This  rime  between  the  actsin  Laurence  Longworth's 
life  has  corne  now.  The  performance  had  been  romantic— 
out  of  the  commoo  order  of  his  life  entirely,  givmg  a  rose- 
tint  to  the  dlill  drab  of  every-day  ;  but  it  has  closed  inorp 
abruptly  than  it  began,  and  life,  and  duty,  and  routine  go  oÇ 
without  it  Days  pass  and  weeks,  weeks  are  strung  inlo 
months,  the  Phénix  is  issued  as  usual,  bed-time  cornes,  ai^ 
meal-time,  and  sleep  is  sweet,  and  food  is  welcome,  althougb 
love  has  spread  his  golden  wings  and  flown  forever. 

The  nine  days'  wonder  has  died  out,  other  interestïng 
scandais  hâve  come  to  replace  it.  '  Frank  Dexter  has  gone 
off  and  not  asked  Marie  Landelle  to  marry  him.     Her  sister's 
disgrâce  has  been  too  deep  even  for  a  sÛly  boy  likè  Dexter 
to  overlook.    Old  Mr.  Longworth  is  a  very  proud  nian  i  hè 
has  threatcned  to  disinherit  'him  |f  he  does  not  give  her  up. 
Aud  Frank  hàs  given  her  up.    fAny  one  cah  see  how.it  iï 
preying  upon  her — she  has  beeiigrq«ing  thin  and  pale  evei 
since  he  went  away,  she  accepts  ho  iil|itations,  goes  nowhere. 
except  to  that  strong-minded  old  mdûd'^Iiss  Hariott,  and  i» 
lôsinghalfherbeauty.  "     |      '       ^ 

For  Longwortb— well  there  is  àta  escape  if  you  like! 
Ttink  df  Us  havîngT>een  âctually  èng;aged  to  the  j^l,  and  " 
on  the  very  brink  of  nrin  and  disgrâce  for  life.    No  wonder 
that  somber  look  it  growing  habituai  te  hioi,  no  wonder  ha  \ 


■li 


* 


4ja 


OVMAND. 


sus  lilent  and  moody  in  the  midst  of  ihe  boJders,  no  wond« 
thaf  swift  flasn  leaps  into  his  eyes,  or  that  scowl  darkens  hi| 
face  at  the  remotçst  allusion  to  the  unlucky  affair. 

Mrs.  Sheldon  watches  him  silently  and  wistfully,  with  exid- 
taUon  il.  her  heart,  and  sham  syinpathy  in  her  eyes.  Hf 
,  «ces  neither.  The  coolest  c^irt^y  decency  will  pcrnit  n 
in  his  manner,  when  it  is  impbssibj^  to  ignore  her  altogether 
fB  some  way  he  vaguely  feels  she  is  reioicing  in  Reine'i 
downfall,  and  something  veiy  like  aversion  lises  within  him 
whei  they  meet. 

Christmas  and  New  Year  go  by  djfçarily  enough,  the  end 
of  Januaiy  cornes.  Mr.  Q'Sullivan  hVs  spent  the  holidays  in 
New  York  with  his  friend  Mrs.  MurphV,  and  makes  life  tem- 
poranly  bright  for  Reine  by  taking  hel  and  her  stout  friend 
everywhere.  H^  has  forgiven  his  cl^ief-he  is  niuch  too 
gênerons  to  beâr  iU-wiU,  and  the  anxioiis,  questioning  look  of 
Longworth's  eyes,  when  he  returns,  ^ives  him  a  twinge  of 
«onaething  very  like  compassion. 

"Is  there  any  answer,  Q,  or  any  message  ?  "  Longwortb 
asks,  a  sudden  eager  flush  rising  in  his  face. 

And  the  answer  cornes  slowly. 

"Not  a   Word,  chief     She's  weU,  and  has  your  lettet 
But  sure,  I  think "  ,? 

«Ahî  never  mind  that,  O'Sullivan/'   Longworth  says 
weanly,  turnmg  away  and  resuming  work. 

"I  wouldn't  be  too  despondent,  my  boy,  if  I  were  you  " 
cnes  O'SulIivan,  cheerily;  "go  on  as  you've  begun;  sure 
tis  onJy  fair  to  court  her  before  you  marry  her,  and  upôn  my 
honor  and  consciance,  it  was  mighty  qucer  courting  ye  did 
•hen  ye  had  her.     \Ve  hâve  a  saying  at  home,  '  that  patience 
And  persévérance  made  a  bishop  of  his  révérence.'     The^re 
ttot  the  virtues  you'll  be  canonized  for,  I  think  myself,  but  « 
httie  practice  of  th^^m  will  do^  a.4eaUf  g<,od.    If  thew-= 
Ptoofcyon're  working  at  are  ready,  l'U  take  tlem,  chief." 
And  w  hc  goesi  and  so  it  is  always;  txA  Longworth  vM 


/-■t. 


t. 


M    r  -fi-- 


PURAtrD, 


43J 


with  aomething  like  îespair  in  Ws  eyes,  and  a  wrribl/  s'cken- 
ing  feeling  at  his  heart.  He  has  written  to  her,  not  once, 
but  many  times,  long  and  impassiohed  appeals.  laying  hJa 
wbole  heart,  its  love,  its  longing,  its  repentance,  its  ceaseles» 
selTreproach— bare  befo^her.  But  she  has  only  answered 
once  that  pleading  cry  for^pardon,  then  in  words  brief  and 
cahn,  that  fall  chill  on  the  «re  of  his  feelîngs. 

"l'read  your  letters,"  she  begins  ;  "  what  more  is  there  to 
«ay?    You  plead  for  forgiveness— that  I  ânswer  at  ail  show» 
Ihat  in  heart  at  least  you  are  forgiven.     You  say  you  love 
rae—loved  me  from  the  first.     Pardon  me  if  I  find  this  very 
hard  to  believe.     ^Vhere  love  i^,  tnM  is,  they  are  twin  sis- 
ters,  they  are  never  apart.     That  lovTi's  love  no  longer  whec 
it  doubts.     I  never  professed  much  for  you,  but   I  would  ' 
hâve   trusted  you— yes,  monsieur,  let  circumstances   hâve 
been  twice  as  strongly  against  you,  I  would  hâve  believed 
your  Word  against  ail  the  world.     Do  not  press  for  answets 
to  your  letters.     I  will  not  write  again,  no,  not  once.     Foi 
the  rest— to  let  you 'corne  to  me,  to  be  your  wife— think  of 
it  no  more.     We  were  never  suited  to  each  other— I  would 
not  make  you  happy  ;  and  for  me,  I  would  think  of  the  pas*, 
always  and  tremble.     Out  of  ray  heart,  monsieur,  I  forgive 
you,  but  to  return  to  you,  to  marry  you— never  !  " 

Surely  silence  is  better  than  a  letter  like  this,  so  Long- 
»orth  thinks  as  he  first  reads  it,  with  compressed  lips  and  pal- 
»cg  *ice.  But  reading  it  again,  and  still  again,  new  hoiie 
dawni  in  the  darkness. 


,!., 


"  Yet  I  will  say  what  friendi  ma/  lay, 
',  Or  onlya  ihought  stronger;" 

«nd  m  its  very  coldness  the  "  thought  stronger  "  is  there.  She 
has  cared  for  him— indire<S%r-she  owned  th»t,  and  owned  it 
for  the  first  time  ;  lits  tëttëfT  wefè  TéceTvêd  and  read,  and--^ 
new  hope  dawned.  He  would  be  patient,  he  would  wait,  lie 
would  plead,  and  his  day  would  corne.  Nothing  in  life  goet 
«9 


^k 


-• *v,.-. 


/■■t. 


434 


ÙUMAND. 


on  forerer.  his  probation  would  end,  and  Reine  be  restoterf 
How  often  Mr.  Longworth  read  that  letter,  now  and  where  i: 
was  trea«.red  becoineà  us  not  ta  telL  Anything  more  pro 
•aie  and  unromantic  than  a  newspaper  editor,  the  heart  of 
mai  hath  not  conceived  ;  but  under  the  influence  of  the  ten 
der  passion,  that  befools  ail,  even  he  inay  sometimes  swerVc 
from  the  straight  path  of  practical  common  sensé  and  be  par 
doned. 

,  And  is  it  not  written  that,  "To  say  the  truth.  reason  and 
love  keep  UtUe  company  nowad?ys.  The  more  thepity  thaï 
■ome  kind  neighbor  will  not  niake  them  friends  1" 

February  cornes,  sleety  and  rainy,  in  wintiy  winds  and 
New  England  snow-stonns,  and  brings  with  it  the  first  break 
<<^  m  the  blank.    It  comeà  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  Frank 
Dexter. 

"  If  it  be  within  the  range  of  possibilities,"  writes  Mr.  Dex- 
ter,  «  ébme  down  at  orice.  In  point  of  fact,  whether  it  be 
possible  or  impossible,  you  must  corne.  The  dear  old  gover- 
nor  IS  very  ill-general  break-up  of  everything— and  he  calh 
for  J^u.  Corne  imraediately,  for  he  cannot  hold  out  mor- 
thail  two  or  three  weeks  at  most." 

In  the  twilight  of  a  wild  March  day  Longworth  reads  this, 
and  as  he  reads  there  rises  before  hîm  a  vision  of  the  long 
gone  past.  The  snow-shrouded,  wind-blown  streets  vanish, 
and  m  their  place  comes  back  the  sunny,  sensuous  southern 
landscape,  the  songs  of  the  negroesat  work  in  the  fields,  thé 
^me-wreathed,  tree-shaded  old  house,  and  the  grim-browed 
=4iperious,  stormy  old  master,  the  (jncle  ever  generous  and 
ind  to  him.  What  an  ungrateful  youog  blockhead  he  ha< 
lown  himself  in  that  past  time,  what  a  debt  of  gratitude  he 
▼ed  that  old  man,  if  for  nothing  else  than  that  he  had 
wght  ofT  Mrs.  Longworth,  and  saved  him  from  the  moral 
ihtpwreck  of  being  her  daughter'shushai..r 


He  départs  next  morning,  and  reaches  the  old  homestead 
Iftte  in  the  af^emoon  nf  a  génial  springlike  day.    As  be  ridef 


^aÉ^irv 


n  '^"        \         ) 


-.^^  Y   ^     ^ 


DUMAND. 


43S 


\ 


■p  the  long  sw«ep  of  drive  he  recaUs  vivl  Jly  hi&  last  riait, 
whcn  spent  with  fatigue,  and  pale  with  passion,  he  had  strid- 
den  into  his-uncle's  présence,  to  defy  him,  and  bid  him  foi 
ever  farewell.      What  a  lifetime  he  seem^i  to  hâve  lived 
through  between  then  and  now. 

Frank  coi.ies  out  to  meet  him,  and  Longworth  gives  a 
luick,  keen,  half-anxious  look  into  his  face.  But  Uiere  ii 
not  much  change-a  trifle  wom  ànd  thin  he  looks,  perhap», 
the  boyish  brïghtness  gone  from  eye  and  cheek,  the  gravity 
that  untroubled  yèars  would  not  hâve  brought  around  hii 
•nouth — no  more. 

"  Am  I  in  time  ?"  Longworth  asks. 
"In  time,  and  that  is  aU,"  Frank  responds;  "the  doctoi 
does  not  give  him  twenty-four  hours.     His  one  drcad  haa 
been  that  he  might  go  without  seeing  you." 

Kive  minutes  later  and  Longworth  is  in  the  sick-rocm,  sit- 
ling  by  the  bedside,  holding  the  trembling  old  hand  in  his 
Mis.  Dexter  bas  tried  to  "prépare"  the  dying  man,  but  h* 
has  half-started  up  with  a  shrill  cry. 

"  Laurence  I  Laureifcel  Corne  back  at  last  I  Ile  said 
he  never  would  conie  I  Go,  bring  him  hère.  Wh>  do  you 
delay  ?    I  want  no  préparation  to  meet  my  boy." 

And  now  he  lies,  holding  him  fast,  the  dull  old  eyes  trying 
to  read  the  face  so  long  unseen,  the  face  of  "his  boy,"  — 
familiar,  yet  so  strange. 

"  Changed,  changed,  changed,"  he  murmurs.  "  Nothing 
but  change  as  we  grow  old.  He  was  only  a  boy  then,  bright- 
ered  and  smooth-faced,  and  he  left  me  because  I  would  not 
let  him  marry  a  wax  doU  without  heart  or  head.  And  1  loved 
Wm—ay,  I  loved  him  as  my  own.son." 

"Forgive  me,"  Longworth  says^  brokenly.  "1  hav* 
jonged  to  come  back  many  a  timç/  and  say  thèse  wotila. 


"  Yoor  pride  stood  in  your  way  l//  You  couldn't  hurailiatt 
rwçlf  toask  »n  old  man's  {>aniott;  and  then  young  Dei 


430 


oCMAtriK 


ter  WM  hère,  and  I  might  hâve  thought  y  ju  had  retnnied  fin 

the  sake  of  the  inheritance  !  But  I  pever  cared  for  youug 
nexter,  though  IVe  dealt  fairly  by  the  lad-a  good  lad  too 
andnot  overstocked  with  brains.  But  I  wanted  you  back, 
Laurence- oh!  I  wanted  you  back,  and  I  told  Chapnian  ta 
.»  #Tite  that  letter,  ai;d  you  wouidn't  conie.  Welî,  well,  well  ! 
!t'i  aU  over  now,  and  I  hâve  forgiven  you,  and  you  are  hère 
at  last.  And  you  didn't  niarry  the  little  Sheldon,  my  boy 
■fter  ail — how  was  that  ?"  '       J* 

"My  dear  uncle,  I  owe  you  inany  debfs  of  gratitude,  but 
there  is  not  one  of  theiii  ail  I  feel  so  deeply  as  that.  You 
irere  my  earthly  salvation  in  those  mad  days  of  my  youth  and 
besotted  folly."  si 

"Ah!  you  can  own  it  ^ow.  And  what  is  this  other  stoiV 
Ellen  tells  me  of  a  little  French  girl  ?  Well-you  don't  like 
it,  I  see-only  take  care,  take  care.  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy,  h 
is  good  to  look  on  your  face  again  !  " 

He  keeps  him  by  his  side  through  the  long  hours  j/he  fall|; 
asleep,  clasping  his  hand,  at  last.     ,     ,  '       .    , 

"Stay  with  me,  Larry,"  he  says,  "it  will  n#4>^  fo^^dhg 
now.  And  it  is  such  a  weary  while— oh  !  suc^*iv^^ï^|Éhile 
«nce  you  sat  by  my  side  before.  Ail  thèse  yeài^îj^Anted 
fOU,  and  forgiven  you,  and  longed  for  you,  btiî  yoi^£|4, 
proud  and  wouidn't  corne:  Young  Dexter  never  cour^. 
your  place,  though  l've  dealt  fairly  by  the  lad— no  one  shS*' 
ever  say  other  than  that."  , 

He  lirops /asleep,  still  clasping  "his  bo/s"  hanïi,  and 
rhrough  the  Idq^hours  of  that  lasjf  night  Longworth  sits  be- 
side  him,  silent  àïïd  sad,  watching  the  feeblefli'èker  of  life 
die  eut.  He  is  a  very  old  man,  and  death  is'  coming  gently 
M  the  slumber  of  a  child.  Frank  shares  his  watch,  sometinies 
dtting  opposite,  sometimes  roaming  rçstlessly  but  noiselessly 
ap  and  down.    And  just  as  the  day  is  breaking  the  old  man 


openi  his  eyéi  fron  that  long  itupor-like  ilcep,  and  ffaxct 


^' 


■/ 


.^  •■,,. 


,^^- 


'  fjF-«.a,  p.  i«.  -•  —  ^». 


IWItAJfD. 


417 


- 1  dnaned  Umençe  was  hew-my  Loy  Laurence  I  »  hm 
en«  o„t,  and  Longworth  bends  above  him 
^JM  am  4,ere.  sir-it  was  na  dream.     Do  ycm  not  k«ow 

A  smile  of  récognition  feht«  up  Ae  old  face. 

ïïreptr:L»ifrcir  ^^^•"^^• 

Jis  .nc..3  race.  stop.  ^^^t'^TlXl^^:^^^ 

y£I*^^'  ^^  •"'  «^y».  "I  am  going  to  call  my  mothe.  : 
Y^candonothingmorehere^heisgone" 

The  twili^t  of  a  fair  March  day.  Longworth  and  Dexter. 
5th  m  mcwnmg  pace  together  up  and  down  the  inn- 
Véranda,  ^tK^^ave  ^nd  silent.  '  Jàls  ^^:,^'S 
/  ying  .n  the  chi^chyard  beyotid,  and  only  an  hour  ZZl 
Longworth.  wil.  was  read.  He  died'a  richer  ZXZ 
either  of  his  nephews  dreamed,  and  bas  shared  those  rich^ 
c^ually  between  then.  each  division  an  an^ruff," 

The  t^  0  young  men  walk  up  and  down  in  silence,  whil- 
Z  rper^  °"  "^  ^^"^'  ^^''-     ^ngworth  is  t 

"I  shall  be  off  to^morrow,"  he  teys.  "  Suppose  you  corne 
w,thme.  Vou  look  «therseedy.dear  boy.  S^iTyo^need^ 
•  tnp  somewhere.  and  there  is  no  need  of  your  ^Zl 
m«>n.ghere.    The  ^.  can  .anage  the /la     S 


"batnottoBaymouth.     7W,  the  last  spot  iu  the  unTJ^* 
I«ir«rw«itto««.     ïwi.htoheavenIh\«Inem^^ 


M 


'.MidJ 


"=^ 


♦3« 


DVkAND. 


I  am  goîng  abroad  again-^or  years,  this  time—and  I  do«*l 
•ee  that  you  can  do  better  than  do  the  sarne.  It  is  ten  yeari 
iince  you  crossed  the  océan,  and  there  is  nothing  to  detaic 
you^  now.  Thfow  the  Phénix  to  the  dogs— to  O'SuUivan, 
rather — and  let  us  be  offi" 

"Impossible,"  Longworth  says.  " My  life  hao  but  one 
ttothre  now,  to  find  and  bç  forgiven  by  Reine  Landelle.  But 
you,  dear  boy,  it  is  the  very  time  for  you  to  start  by  aU 
«neans,  the  sooner  the  better.  Accompany  me  to  New  York 
to-morrow,  and  I  will  sec  you  oflf." . 

So  it  is  settled,  and  much  to  his  mother's  dismay,  Frank 
départs  with  his  cousin  on  the  first  stage  of  his  very  long  jour- 
ncy.  Three  days  aftei^  they  reach  New  York,  they  shake 
hands,  and  part  on  the  dfeck  of  a  Canarder,  and  Dexter  hai 
gone. 

Mr.  Longworth  lingers  on,  hunts  up  a  few  old  friends,  and 
spends  the  long  spring  days  pretty  much  wanclèring  about  the 
itt-eets.  Surely,  if  he  linger  long  enough,  sooner  or  later  he 
will  meet  Reine— people  in  a  city  are  like  cards  in  the  same 
pack,  sure  to  corne  together  some  time,  in  the  universal  shuffle 
But  a  week,  two  weeks  pass,  and  still  he  watches  and  hope« 
in  vain. 

And  8o,  restless  and  aimless,  it  chances  one  night  (if  any 
thing  ever  does  befall  by  chance)  that  he  finds  himself  with 
an  acquaintance,  who  like^to  set  life  in  ail  its  phases,  in  a 
faro  bank.  It  is  late,  and  the  rooms  are  well  fiUed.  They 
are  loitering  about  amo^;  the  players,  when  suddenly  a  voice, 
low,  bland,  traînante,  singularly  familiar,  and  musicalîy  for- 
eign  accented,  falls  on  Longworth's  ear. 

"Monswur  would  imply,  then,  that  he  has  been  cheiàed? 
Pardon,  iPl  misapprehend,  but  that  is  what  monsieur  \m 
msinuated,  is  it  not  ?  " 

— ^^  iii^piuiilu  nothing i'*-BhoQtf  a  furious  Voice  j ~*^ t  agr- 
that  you  hâve  been  cheating,  monsieur,  from  the  fint  mbuto 
we  ut  down,  an/§|  appeal  to  thèse  gentlemen  if-^^" 


-JtmJt  LONG  GR/EP  AND  PAWf' 


439 


He  does  not  finish  the  sentence.  His  opponent  has  a  glasi 
of  wine  at  his  elbow,  and  he  flings  it  crash  in  the  face  sf  the 
infuriated-  speaker. 

Both  men  leap  to  their  feet  There  is  a  confuBq|[  sonnd 
•Â.  many  voices  and  hurrying  of  feet  Then  there  is  a  flash,  a 
Fspoit,  a  cry,  and  Longworth  springs  forward  in  tiine  to  catcl 
rWinuid  as  he  fiadls. 


■■t 


•   CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"ArrKR   LONG  GRIEF  AND  PAIN." 

IWO  hours  later,  on  that  same  march  night,  Mr. 
Miles  O' Sullivan  sits  busily  and  virtuously  at  work 
upon  a  slashing  diatribe,  meant  for  that  raost  con- 
tumacious  of  men,  the  editor  of  the  Baymouth  Herald.  As 
he  sits,  one  of  the  office-boys  enters  hastily — a  yellow  enve- 
lope  in  his  hand. 

"  Telegram  for  you,  sir,  from  New  York." 
Mr  O' Sullivan  drops  his  pen  hastily,  and  seizes  the  mis- 
Éive.     In  aîl  New  York  City  there  is  but  one  person  for  this 

gentleman,  and  surely  she ,     He  tears  it  open,  and  draws 

%  long  breath  of  relief  ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  Reine. 

"Coms  hera  «t  ono»— do  not  kne  a  moment— nutter  of  life  and 

Laorbmce  Lonoworth.** 

CSullivan  sits  for  a  moment  stupidly  staring  at  the  words 
So  Longworth  is  in  New  York  I  and  what  does  this  mysteri- 
oos  message  mean  ?      Has  any  harm   befallen   the  chief  ? 
Has  he  seen  Reine,  or  has  he  met  Durand  ?     "  Mattet  of 
life  and  death  I  "    What  does  it  mean  ? 


The  brisk  question  rouses  him. 

"Awwer?"  he  repeaU.     *«Ye«,  wait  •  mina».'    H« 


^' 


♦40  -An-EK  LONG  GkIRP  AlfD  PAtN.'' 


£•>. 


Jaihei  eff  two  or  three  words.     "  AU  right  ;  wiU  bc  tleie  ' 
and  hands  it  to  the  messenger,  who  départs. 

The  sub-editjr  winds  up^his  caustic  remarks  in  a  suddet 
hurry,  and  goes  home.     This  dispatch  has  upset  him  -it  up. 
sets  him  the  whole  night  long,  and  he  is  glad  when  to-nior 
roy  cornes,  to  junip  on  board  the  earliest  train  and  be  ori 
It  is  late  in  the  evening,  and  quite  dark  when  he  reachee  tht 
city  and  whiris  up  to  Longworth's  hôtel,  and  Longworth  him 
self  is  the  ftrst  person  he  sees,  standing  at  one  of  the  open 
Windows  smoking. 
\     "  What  is  it  ?  "  O'SuUivan  asks,  breathlessly.     «  Who  is  it 
thaf  s  dead  or  dying,  and  why  hâve  you  sent  for  me  ?" 

In  a  dozen  words  Longworth  tells  him. 

"Ifs  Durand— shot  ih  a  gambling  hell,  and  dying  here.- 
He  is  calling  for  Reine,  and  it  is  to  fetch  her  to  him  I  hâve 
sent  for  you." 

"The  Lord  be  praised  !  "  says  Mr.  O'Sullivan.  drawing  a 
long  breath  of  relief  ;  "  I  thought  it  was  worse." 

"  It  can't  be  much  worse  for  poor  Durand.  He  won't 
Uve  the  night  out— so  the  doctors  say.  You  had  best  be  off, 
O'Sullivan,  if  he  is  to  meet  Reine  alive.  l'U  keep  out  of 
sight  if  she  likes,  so  that  need  not  detain  her." 

"  I  am  much  mistaken  if  it  would  in  any  case.  With 
Durand  dying,  it's  little  she'U  think  of  any  one  else.  Poot 
fellow  !  and  so  a  shot  in  a  gambling  brawl  is  the  end  of  him  I 
But  doesn't  he  want  to  send  for  the  other  one  at  ail- -Miss 
Marie  ?  " 

"  No,"  Longworth  responds,  briefly  ;  "  I  asked  him. 
Reine  runs  no  risk  in  coming  to  see  him— Marie  does.  Foi 
Heaven's  sake,  O'Sullivan,  be  off-every  momen'  is  of 
value."  * 

The  cab  is  stîll  waiting.  O'Sullivan  jumps  in,  gives  the 
ordcr,  and  Is  rattleJ  off.     In  fifteea  minutes  h»  «  standing  ^ 


^  nat  in  hand,  before  the  startled  eyes  of  Mrs.  M.  Muqïhy. 
"  WeU  now,  that  I  may  never,"  is  that  lady's  greeting,  "  i/ 


A 


* 

u 


T 

on 


■'%' 


^APTSM  LONG   G/tlEP  AND  PAIN."  441 

I  wuKtdreamin'  of  ye  last  night,  Mr.  O'Sullivai,  in'  sure 
hère  ye  are  an'  my  dream's  corne  in.  It's  only  this  Éessed 
minute  I  was  saying  to  mamzelle — -  "         f 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  0*Sullivan  asks.     «  I  must  see  her  at 
once." 

••  And  it's  no  good  news  ye're  bringing  her  in  such  a  huiry 
rm  thinking.     She's  there  in  the  paffcr  beyond  trimming  a 
cap,  and  faix  it's  herself  has  the  eleganj  tasfi  ail  out  in  tba» 
,  same  trimming." 

O'SuUivan  hurries  by,  and  taps  at  the  parler  door. 

"  Enter,"  says  a  s#eet  and  familiar  voice,  and  with  hia 
heart  beating  beyond  its  wont  he  obeys. 

She  lifts  her  face— th«|^sweetest  on  earth,  he  thinks,  and 
rises  with  a  smile  of  glad  wèlcome. 

"  I  knew  your  knock,  monsieur,"  she  says,  and  holds  out 
a  little  dusk  hand.  Then  she  pauses,  the  smile  dies  away 
for  there  is  no  answering  smile  .on  his  face.  "  What  is  it  ?  ' 
she  asks,  quickly.     "  Marie " 

"  Your  sister  is  well,  mademoiselle,  but  I— I  don't  bring 
you  very  good  new%  for  aU  that.  I  don't  know  how  to  break 
things .  " 

" It  is  Léonce  I "  she  says.  "Oh,  monsieur,  speak  out  I 
Itis  Léonce!"  .,  ^g^ 

••  Yes,  mademoiselle,  it  is  "M.  Durand.  *!  am  sorry  to  tell 
you  hf  has  met  with  an  accident,  and  is— is  dangerously  ill 
in  fact,  and  is  asking  for,  you " 

He  breaks  off  in  distress.  She  has  turned  *suddenly  sick 
•na  faint,  and  sits  down,  her  face  ail  blanched  with  terror. 

"He  is  dying,  monsieur,  and  you  are  afrai^Jito  tell  me  I  " 
Then  she  starts  to  her  feeL  "  Take  me  to  him,"  she  criei 
out     "  Oh,  my  brother  1  my  brother  I  " 

"  The  carnage  is  at  thedoor,"  he  answers  :  "  but  wnn'i 


7011  pWM  a  hàt,  à  bonnët^^S(^^ 

"Oh  !  I  hafl  forgotten.     Yes,  yes,  wait  one  moment 
8h«  hurries  out  of  the  room,  and  is  back  direcUy  in  La.< 


..Hl-^.J^U'^SlVi  'À^i'Ai: 


.'iii 


•nd  jackeL  .She  finds  Mr.  O'SuUivan  in  th'e  store,-  ezpUii 
ing  as  far  j|8  need  be,  thia  sudden  abduction  to  Mn 
Murphy. 

"  Ah,  theh,  the  Lord  pity  hér  I    As  if  she  hadn't  enougl 
*  to  trouble  her  without  that    But  doesn't  ail  the  wqrld  kno* 
it  never  rains  but  if  pours  !" 

Reine  appears,  very?pale,  and  with  a  certain  intense 
expression  in  her  dilated  eyes.  Mr.  CSullivan  in  profound 
and  sympathetic  silence,  bands  her  into  the  cab,  and  they 
■re  driven  rapiàïy  through  thg  busy,  brightly  gas-lit  streets. 

"  TeU  me  about  it,"  she  says,  aftèr  a  little  ;  "  how  was  it  7 
What  was  the  accident  ?" 

ne  hésitâtes.  ^  . 

"  Oh,  speak  I  "  shd  skys  ;  «  do  not  be  aftaid.^  It  seems  to 
me  I  can  bear  anything  now.  He  is  to  die,  you  say  ?  "  hei 
voice  breaks  in  a  sob  ;  "  nothing  can  ,alter  that  ? - 

"Well,  then,  mademoiselle,  he  was~shot  I  ' 

^ere  is  a  womentary  sound  of  horror,  then  stillne 

"  By  whom  ?  "  she  asks,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

** I  do  not  know— I  never  asked.  It  was'^^aiLacw, 
rerv  likely— such  things  happen.  Longworth  chanc< 
bethere,  and " 

He  stops— his  tongue  has  betrayed  him.    Reine 
fuddenly,  and  looks  at  him. 

"Longworth!"  she  repeatt;  «what  of  M.  I^nc 
worth  ?"  ^ 

"  Mademoiselle,  excnse  me.  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  of 
him,  but  the  truth  is,  Longworth  is  in  New  York,  and 
chanced  to  be  on  the  ground  at  the  time  of  the— accident, 
and  it  is  in  his  care  Monsieur  Durand  is  at  présent  'Twas 
he  sent  for  me— Durand  was  asking  for  you,  and  Longworth 
didn't  know  yoor  address.  You  needn't  see  him  if  von 
WMh " , '__ 


s 

t 
ï 
\i 

s: 
o 


w 
si 


He  pauses,  for  the  cab  has  stopped  at  the  hotiL 
*  her  in,  and  upifairs  into  a  private  parlor. 


Hi 


d< 
O 


h.i  ■-  ^■■iïvL  ^  .'f'-^f  UStf ^li 


'*^'  'W* 


-ÂFTÊ^  LOUrc   GRIEF  AND  PAIN*  443 


l^tdown,"  he  says,  '< and  wait  one  minute.    ï 


.■^:v. 


mnit  wc 


A^n  he  breaks  oflf.    An  inner  door  has  suddenly.opened 
and  I^gworth  stands  on  the  threshold.     He  backs  a  step 

•t  the  sight  of  the  two  before  him-growing  veiy  pale 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"— bis  eyes  are  on  Reine.  "I  did 
aotkncrw.^ "  ^  " 

«Take  me  to  hira,"  she  says,  unheeding  his  words  ; 
^toke  me  tç.  Léonce.    Oh  I  monsiem-,  surely  I  am  not  too 

"No,"  Longworth  answers,  saduess,  compassion,  tender- 
ness  m  face  and  voice,  "you  are  not  too  late.  Only-he 
tt  «nkmg;  it  is  best  you  should  know,  and  you  must  be 
■eiy  quiet" 

"I  wiU  be  anything— only  take  me  to  him." 

"Thisway,  then," 

She  foUows  him  into  the  inner  room.  A  door  standa 
»jar— she  catches  the  glimmer  ôf  a  faint  light,  of  a  bed,  of 
a  dark  head  lying  motionless  on  the  piUo^.  Then  she  hur- 
nés  past'  Longworth,  and  in  a  moment  is  kneeling  beside  the 
bed,  kissmg  again  and  agàin  the  shapely  whife  hand  lying 
ump  and  hfeless  on  the  counterpane. 

'*  My  dear  one  !  my  dear  one  I  "  she  says  with  a  „ 
«mothered  sob,  and  th^^dark  eyes  open,  and  a  smile  m 
on  the  çold,  white,\  beatlîful  face  of  the  dying  man. 

"Mignonne /-ma   ^ur,"   he  whispers,   "I   khew  you 
TOuld  corne."  ■  ' 

Longworth  waits  for  no  mori^lle  sees  her  draw  the 
weak  head  within  her  arirfs,  close  to  her  heart  J^n  he 
•hut»  the  door  and  leaves  them  together.  ^^ 

«But  Léonce,  brother  beloved,  there  should  be  a  cle  «y 
■wn  if  indeed,  as  they  tell  me,  you  are  dyinç 


^jmïey  tell  you  truïy,  ma  Petite,  my  hour  has  corne.  A 
detperate  death  h  closing  a  desperate  life.  \s  to  M.  le 
Curé,  he.has  been^heie-the  exceUent  M.  Lon^orth  hai 


^■•'«w»'. 


.â:. 


^ 


*... 


.ioigotten^iothing.     |lnd  it  iiTpÇ^.   Ld 
ii>eak  to  you,  nfa 


parted/let  it  be  thrd 


f ou  shall  corne  togetheit,"'  Foi;  I  hav 
loves  yôin,  Reine,  ancj  yôj^»*^^  I  yo 

Ipre  îs^onemem.    . 


orth  JËf  wocld 
lave  been 

réath-bod^thal 
|is,hei«,ândhr>* 


■  '      *  Il  •'Wl^e! 


f  "  *'  ^^**^'»  *"^  ceases.     ÎÏÊ  breathino 
w4»ié,|B^^  eyes  there  shines  the  light  of  ati 
tion  to  say  what  lie  has  ta.|^)r,'in  spite 


^^^"^î.  :)È*eiil5e^;**- he  says;  "he  loyes  you  aâ|dl;you  necd 
'  -Ifi^,  ,Y^  will  forgive  and  take  him  baèk,\wiU  ^  not  ?  " 
:;j^  "Léonce,  do  nOt  ask'me.     Forgive  hira— oh  îl^.  out  of 


ly  very  heart;  but  take  him  back— no,  that  can  néver  be." 


_'And  why  not  ?  fiecause  you  hâve  said  so  ?  Bi|»<  a  raih; 
pi^mise  is  better  broken  than  kept.  It  is  your  pride  that 
says  no,  Petite,  while  your  heart  says  yes.  Will  yoil  not  try 
at  least — foroiysake?" 

*'What  is  there  I  would  not  do«lbr  your  sake  ?  Ohi 
brother,  best  beloved,  afe  we  indeed  to  part  like  this  !  " 

She  bi-eaks^own  in  passioriate  sobbing  for  a  moment,  but" 
at  the  look  of  distress  on  his  face,  stills  Kerself  with  a  chok- 
ing  effort.  ■'.-.' 

V  And  Marie?"  she  whispers,«should  she  not  behere? 
Think  6(  her,  Léonce.  Her  heàrt  will-  break  when  she%eaif 
ofthis."  '  ' 

A  faint  smile  of  scom  and  pain  to^ether  flashes  across  hii 
white  face.     . 

"  Then  why  let  her  hear  it.  Petite  ?    Such  h^ 
for  those  délicate  ears.     You  tell  me  to  think  of 
the  great  misfortune  of  my  life  has^been  that  I 
ofh'irtoo  n^É^^a^toJufrJwart^eakil 
Ah  !  wtU,  yolWg  an  angel  with  an  ângel' 


fooxMàkfi, 


last  hour,  I  will 


?. 


\ 


V 


id  sofoi 
But  dif 


ï-i 


f 


1  •■ 


T' 


.     ^^ 


T^^T^ 


-APTMR  LONG  GRIEF  AND  PAIN."*       '      443 

■hoold  Dot  bc  here— no,  a  th  îtisand  times  I  I  wronged  hei 
when  I  married  hér— I  !vill  not  wrong  her  still  further  by 
robbing  her  of^er  fortune,  that  fortuie  for  which  she  would 
sjake  and  lose  a  hundred  worthless  wretches  Ifke  ni»».  And 
•  she  is  very  right-r-who  should  know  that  bettet  than  l} 
Only  we  will  not  talk  of  her,  my  little  one.  Oh  !  my  littlc 
^)né«>-biave,  and  loving,^hd  loyal,  who  would  risk  a.  king 
dôm  and  crown,  I  belfëve,  to  corne  to  her  worthless  bra 
therl"  > 

Tlie-weak  voice,  faUering.  and  broken  throughout,  break» 
off  altogether,  and  there  is  sUencç^  long  and  sad.  The  slow 
moments  go  by  and  range  themselves  into  hours,  Durand 
dozes  fitfully,  and  Reine's  head  droops  mournljilly  against 
the  side  ot  the  bed,  as  she  watches  Oiirfi.  In  ail  the  vas! , 
city,  she  wonders,  is  there  another  wreck  so  great,  so  utter,  ' 
so  pitiful  as  this  ?  Every  good  gi£t1hiat  Heaven  has  given 
him— youth,  strength,  beauty,  talent,  life  itself,  cast  recklessly 
from  him — and  this  is  the  en&  ! 

The  doctor  has'promised  to  look  in  through  the  night,  and 
keeps  his  word.      Reine,  cold,   and  still,   and   mournful, 
watches  him  with  dreary,  wistful  eyes,  but  in  his  face  she 
rèads  no  hope.     He  goas  out  and  speaks  to  O'Sullivan—  ' 
watching  uneasily  in  tlie  outer  room. 

"The  end  will  corne  bçfore  morning,  and  there  is  a  chanca 
of  his  dying  hard.  You  had  better  get  that  poor  young  lady 
in  there— his  sîster,  I  présume— to  retire.  It  will  never  do 
to  let  her  be  with  him  at  the  last." 

Mr.  CSulIivah  gp^^n  this  second  unpleasant  errand, 
and  lirtds  it  hïrder  «é'perform  than  the  first.  The  dark,  sad 
eyes  kjôk  up  at  him  i^iploiringly. 

"Ahl  mimsieur,  do  not  send  mç  away.     I  cannot  leave 
him.     YoH  hâve  so  good  a  heart,  monsieur,  pray.  pray  do 
TK«  Mtinetp  %or^ '^ ^^^-^ix^^-^-^, — 

"  But  if  Y^u  we5  yourself  out  td-night,  mademoiseUe,  you 
.Vfll  be  uhhi  for  nurse  duty  tûrtqorrow.    And  ihcn  the  doctw 


i.,.x^. vV;-. 


446  **AFT£Jt  LOSG  GftliW  AND  PAtN.» 

-»t  is  his  order,  mademoiselle-there  are  examina. Ions,  yoi 

koow,  and-and  ail  that,  and  indeed  Ithink  you  had  bette. 

winful"       "^  ^°"  """'^  ^^^^  '-^  H  °^  *™«^'"«  Wm 

She  lises  slowly  and  reluctàntly. 

"If  indeed  the  doctor  orÈers  it But,  monsieur,  you 

«riU  call  me-promise  me  that.  If  there  is  a  change  I  must 
be  with  him— M^«.  * 

O'SulIivan  promises,  is  ready  to  promise  anythirig,  an^ 
-  «eads  her  away.  ' .  She  is  shown  to  a  room  ordered  for  hen 
and  as  the  door  doses,  kneels  tiowri  by  the  bedàide  and 
bunes  her  face  m  her  hands,  and  the  sobs  she  has  stifled  ir 
-^-^esick  room  break  forth.  Tresently  this  too  exhausts 
itàelf,  and  worn,  and  mo.t  misérable,  she  drops  asleep  theic 
where  she  kneels.  .  F  "  «c 

^  She  awakes  cramped  and  cold,  to  find  that  it  is  broad  day 
As  she  mes  slowly  and  painfully,  her  door  opens.  and  Mis, 
lanott  humes  in  and  clasps  her  in  her  arms. 

"Little  Queen  I  Little^ueen  ^•'  she  èxclaims,  "  I  hive 
found  you  at  last.  and  this  tirae  I  will  never  let  you  ^1  " 

"  But  \  nmst."  Reine  says.  in  sudden  terror.  "  I  must  jro 
to  Léonce.  Oh  !  why  did  I  sleep  1  TeU  me-you  look  m 
ifyoakiiew— ishe— bétter?  m 

.There  is  silence,  earnest  and  pliful,  then  a  desolate  wail- 

mgcry.   For  Hefter  Hariott's  tear-wet  eye's  and  averted  face 
teU  the  story,  and  Reine  knows  that  Duiand  is  dead 

Xt  is  Mr.  O'SulIivan  who  carnes  the  nevvs  to  Baymouth.  to 
'Jh!  dç^ad  man's  widow;     Mr.  O'SulIivan  grunibles  a  likle  af 
iliiding  hmiself,  willy  nilly.  mixed  up  with  this  éxtremelv  un- 
pleasant  family  tangle.  and  at  having  the  thankless  task  of 
breakmg  thmgs"  to  young  ladies  forced  upon^him  ^h^ther 
_ff J-g-,  gut^Reinc  has  asked  bia^^^nd^at is^therethiSun^-ïr- 
romantic  little  man,  with  the  brogue  and  U:e  bald  «pot,  wouU'       ^ 
•Ot  do  fci  Reine  ?  *^^ 


•m 


F; 


/'S? 


It  U  two  or  tl.roé  days  before  an  opportunity  jffers,  for  hc 
doci  not  venture  to  call  at  the  Stone  House  lest  he  should 
arouse  the  angry  curiosity  of  its  mistress.  But  onc  evenin. 
«  he  lakes  his  postprandial  rtroll  in  méditative  mood.  hr 
coines  unexpectedly  upon  the  young  lady  hcrself.  ShTap 
proaches  hiln  at  once  and  with  eagerneî^. 

"I  havc  been  watching  for  you,"  she  says.  «'I  kne» 
foo  were  m  the,  habit  of  walking  hère.  Mr.  O'SuUivan. 
you  hâve  but  recently  corne  from  New  York.     Tell  me  of 

"  She  is  well,"  he  briefly  answers. 

♦;  Why  has  Miss  Hariott  gono^o  hastily  ?  She  left  a  note 
e  ing  me  she  had  gone  to  Reine  who  was  in  trouble,  but 
felhng  me  no  more.  Monsieur,  you  are  nxy  sister^s  friend- 
whatisthat  trouble?" 

His  eyes  shift  away  uneasily  from  hers-with  tfie  stick  he 
cames  he  traces  figures  confusedly  on  the  ^nd.     There  b  a 

,  ^  j' You  teU  me  Reine  i.  weU  ?  -  Marie  says.  growin^  vciy 

JYes.  mademoiseUe,  weU  in  health,  but  as  Miss  Hariot 
tol^  you—m  trouble;" 

LW '?"•'*''  **^''"''*  '^***'^  ^'^  ^'***^  "it  is  then 

She  ay.  her  hand  (jver  her  leart,  and  stands  silently  wait 
ing,  gr^mg  more  an(f  more  pale.  And  then-how.  he  ncv« 
knows-he  IS  stammering  out  the  truth,  that  Dnrand  Um 
been  shot,  and  ,s  dead  atid  buried    He  is  horribly  frightened 

|f>fîowlj;Jp.K  to  stone  _The-«-^heceases^perieïn^..^-^ 

tur^mi  without  a  word,  as  if  to  go.   She  walks  a  dotm 
on  tbi-       a       '"^""^  ''"^  w  ay,  falli  face  downirinî 


\ 


'W^'".\'. 


'm 


4 

%■ 


^^ 


.i\ 


*AFTRR  tOfft,    oniiii     ^AlD  PÀm» 


^. 


It  is  no  more  than  Mr.  O'Sullivan  has  expected.  He  lito 
her  up,  cirries  hcr  far^ipBiilfe  da^ijes  cold  «ea-w^tei 
in  her  face.  Presentiy;  as  he  is  bçginning  to  grow  anxiotu, 
nhe  revives,  opens  her  eyes,  sits  up  and  pushes  back  the  wet 
fairhair  offher  forehead.  l  ' 

"Whatis  it?"  she  asks,  incoherently.     «'Ohl  I  know," 
a  look  of  anguish  crossing  her  face.     "  Léonce  is  dead—my 
.      love,  my  husband  !     Oh  I  Afan  Dieu  /  " 

She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sits  motionless  fot 
*  mpient,  then  the  old  look  of  resolution  cornes  into  het 
e)i^  and  she  rises.  But  she  doesnot  sh^  tear.  She  holdi 
ont  her  hand  to  O'Sullivan^tanding  anxious  and  distressed.  ' 

*You  are  goodnesâ  itself,  monsieur,  good  to  t^^tei, 
good  to  me.     I  thank  you  with  ail  my  heart."         ^*^ 

^e  jetums  and  hurries  aw^y.  O'Sullivan  foUows  her,  buf 
***^™  ftr"^'^'^"  faint,.nor  falter,  nor  pause  this  time  as  sh< 
hastèn^n  her  way  to  the  Stone  Hoihie.  Straight  into  th« 
présence  of  Mrs,  Windsor,  and  on  her  knees  before  her  Mane 
telk  the  whole  stog^Ô|her  own  déception  and  her  sister»! 
innocence.  ,\.  f' 

"  '  '°^^""  '^  denied  him.  I  lovid  her  and  spoiled  hei 
whole  lif^^y'llsband,  made  rcckless  by  me,  stole  youi 
•  money,  and  that  theft  and  his  tragica^death-^re  ail  çy  doing. 
*'''°'"*^''*  îârt^  havedeceivedyoM,  b.ri|^etruth,is.spoken 
\  at  last,  aiifl^^n  you  publp  my  shamT  and  guîlt  to  the 
world  an4  turn  me  frorayôur  d^,'I  WiU.only  «Trecil^ing^ 
iierewardlhàveTichly.deS^^jP^V  .M- 

Mrs.  Windsor  lîste^kth  a  bktergess  that  is  like  die  bit- 
^  temess  of  death.     Al^p  th^me— déception,  dishonor, 
4»trickery.     I«  there  to*^piio  »d  to  the  disgrâce  broughl" 
ttpon  her  by  thèse  girlsîk  Has  not  the  name  bf  Windsor  been 
Iragged  through  the  mire  sufficiehtly,  that  this  fresh  degiada. 
gQft^iMflJ>c  added.    Longworth  ha6-4f«baken  ht?f;  aht  ir^ 


jToiring  feebie  and  old  ;  must  this  girl  go,  too,  and  «11  tlH 
irorld  know  #hy  ? 


1^ 


^wj^a^ 


''^^TBR  LOJfG  GRISF  AND  l-AJIfu  ^5 

•Letve  me,"  «he  says,   m  a  stifled  voictf   «-«^  , 

ae  is.  '  jp 

r»A,  %„  r:  *f  .f/-  "  '^  •"=  ""'^  «i-«io„  sh. 

In  New  York  Heine,  in  the  tende^  care  of  Miss  Hari  ^"^ 
droops  and  falls  under  this  lâst  blow      He  h.,  h  -J 

h^  been  so  awfully  sudden  and  tragic  fhat  it  crishes  her 

tcniHb^reams.     She  grows  afathetic  to  ail  chines  •  noThino 
"oyes  <^,nterests  her.     Longworth,  inexpressi  ,r™ 
cornes  and  goes,  but  she  takes  no  heed  of  hi.„.   ' No  effort 
«  M^sHanotfscan  arouse  her.     As  the  weeks  .0  hv  t^ 


-hcAlth  failfc  and^ 


she^  grow^anid^n^-thin^s  a  shado' 

pfl     ILf»    T  ^ .1  .... 


-- . ,  '   7  ~   """   6'"'»!>   pallia  and  thin  as  a  shadow 

Thoroughly  alarmed.  Mr.  Longworth  and  Miss  Hariott  hoW 

»er  charge,  she  mi^kes  an  abrupt  propostL 


/ 


*  CW  ssî'i*.,         «^  »&fc 


■^asçL.-'T'^ 


\i  ",  ,"m|^'-' 


4SO 


^^AFTEJt  LONG  GRIEF  AND  fdW 


**  Litâe  Qneen,  auppose  ^c  go  on  a  journey  ?  " 

The  dark,  languid  eyes  lift  wearily,  and  look  at  ner. 

"  My  last  year's  scamper  over  Europe  has  bot  whetted  iii> 

appetite  for  more,"  continues  Miss  Hariotl,  briskly  ;  **  I  (mm 

to  go  again.    Suppose  we  start— we  two— next  week,  axu 

we  will  go  to  Rouen,  and  you  will  show  me  the  white  honte 

t  on  the  hill ^Ah  i  I  thought  that  would  bring  you  back  to 

Lfe!" 

For  Reine  has  started  up,  with  dasped  hand%  and  eyet 
that  light  for  the  first  time  in  many  weary  weeks. 

"  We  wiU  go  next  week/'  says  Miss  Hariott,  with  ded- 
■ion.  "  We  will  reach  London  early  in  May,  in  time  for  the 
height  of  the  season,  and  we  will  ride  m  a  '  broosh  and  four, 
as  Thackeray  has  it,  in  Hyde  Park,  and  see  the  queen  and 
royal  family,  not  to  speak  of  the  nobility  and  landed  gentry. 
I  hâve  a  conviction,  Petite,  that  if  I  had  been  bom  an  Eng- 
Ush  woman  I  would  hâve  ^een  a  horrid  snob,  and  adored  the 
aristocraçy,  Then  we  will  cross  to  France  and  spend  a 
month,  if  we  feel  like  it,  in  a  certain  picturesque  Norman 
city,  and  my  darling'will  get  back  her  old  brightness,  and  be 
my  high  -oirited,  radiant  •  Little  Queen  '  of  other  days." 

If  iiothing  less  than  a  direct  inspbition— Reine  rousea 
ftoiu  that  hour.  Next  week  comes,  ajad  they  go.  I^ng- 
worth  see»  them  off,  and  though  she  does  not  heed  it  then. 
Reine  remembers  afterward  how  pale  and  wistful  his  face  is, 
as  he  holds  out  his  hand  and  quietly  sayé  good-by. 

They  hâve  a  delightful  passage,  and  before  it  is  over  Reine 
"  suffers  a  sea  change,"  and  is  quite  her  old  self  again.  They 
see  London  1at  its  best  and  gayest,  as  Miss  Hariott  has  pre- 
dicted,  remain  a  fortnight,  and  then  cross  the  channeL 
Through  the  whole  month  of  June  they  linger  in  Pariî  and, 
Rouen.  Other  faces  are  in  the  "  old  house  on  the  hill  "  low, 
MReine,  tfilentand  a  little  sad,  wandcrs  through  it,  nr  ph,cl^t 
U  apricot  ripening  against'the  gardL-n  wall.  Thé  morbid 
•pathy  hav  gone.  but  in  its  place  a  pr(>f.)und  ihoughtfuli.ew 


i-a^ïC^'  K 


"1 


cunority  of  tha.  excelien.  lad/  f'^-d-lha.  c.c,.«  ,h. 

^ra,n.  a.  :^^^^ZtX  r  "?  """ 

,"i..a„eww./„f  Z^^t^:^T  'ZrT  '"' 
ibout ?"  ^'    ^°^'  w'hat  is  it 

richjîf'   ""*"*•"  ""^"^   ■'-"  "--%.  "a«  yo„ 
^       "  Because  I  want  to  know.  " 
"riche's  a^e  com"  att   'r^'^'r  '"^""^^  "^^^^^  ^«l' 

-.  ga.  jrr:;;  i;  '^  r  r  r'^^^r  -^ 

regard  to  the  Rothschilds,  or  Miss  bS  Co7.  "'''     '" 
grand,nother  Windsor,  I  ai  poor/'    ^'^^'"  .^°""«'  o»-  /<>« 

"  Tlut  is  not  what  I  mean,  and  you  know  it     Yn„  ,oM 
^>ncc  you  had  an  incomë  barely  sufficiertn'l-  ^°"'^'^"»'' 
that  last  year's  tour  exl^3k^     suffic.ent  to  Iive  upon,  and 

bave  they  been  rSCS V"""-  '"f" ''''     '^''^'  '"^^^ 
^ve  lived  ?    Ho^V^'^*^'^'"^'  ^"'^  ''^^  luxuriously.  4s  we 

^^S^ans  a  little forward in her earnestness, a3^^ ^. ,. 
^i*»^    Wîss  HarTott  laughs  80%.        ^  *»^«^  ««kt  thr=^ 


Il 


My  dear.  can  you  not  guess  ?  ' 


r-  y 


) 


45» 


*:AF7EII  L0N3   QRIEF  AND  PAm." 


Reine  falls  iuddcnly  back.     The  dim  light  hides  her  fab  , 
,     and  she  does  not  speak  a  word.     Miss  Hariott  bends  towar  i 
her,  and  puts  her  arm  caressingly  over  her  shoulders. 

"Little  Queen,  do  not  be  angty— it  was  our  onlyhQpeJ 
Could  we  see  you  droop  and  die  before  our  eyes  ?.    To  briiig 
our  little  Norman  girl  to  her  old  home  was  her  one  chance, 
and  -he  made  me  do  it     He  loves  you  so  dearly,  Petite,  so 
dearly ^" 

^    But  Reine  puts  up  her  hands  witb  a  litUe  imiAssioned  ge»- 
ture.  ' 

"Oh  I  do  not  I "  she  says ;  " it  i?  then  to  Mr.  Longworth 
I  owe  it  ail  I  " 

"  AU.  To  send  you  away  was  the  greatest  saorifice  he  coûld 
make  and  he  made  it.  He  is  not  a  patient  mau  as  a  rule, 
but,  Little  Queen,  he  has  been  very  patient  hère ^"a 

She  bréaks  off,  foi  again  the  girl  makes  a  gesture  to  staj  ' 
-  her.     It  is  evidently  a  subject  to  be  discussed  by  no  third 
person,  however  privileged.     There  is  a  pause,  and  the  eldei 
lady  peers  ont  of  the  window  against  which  the  rain.is  dashing 
in  wild  drifts.    -\ 

"<A  real.summer  tempest/'  she  says,  m  a  changed  tone. 
•*  We  will  hâve  a  disagreeable  day  to-monow  to  start  foi 

,     "  We  are  not  going  to  Italy,/'  says  <Ace  from  the  dépth 
éf.  the  chair  ;  "we  are  going  back  to  E^land." 

fMydear- ."     • 

'•And  by  the  first  ship  frora  Liverpool  we  are  te  return  (è  - 
New  York:     Let  us  say  no  more  àbout'it."  i^T 

"But,  Reine,  one  word— you  are  not  angry?"'  '  *\ 

«I  am  not  angry.    I  ani  ti^ed  though,  and  if  you  wiU  excuse 
me,  will  say  good  rtight."  '         *         . 

Sbe  kisses  her  frientJ  and  goes,  and  Miss  Hariott  is  left  sit- 
^gj[  ^>^  w>t^ow,  perplexed  and  aiyciouS,  and  profoundl)  < 


V 


-  .*' 


».. 


'  .» 


^«fant  ifrhether  she^as  noi  gTvèri  tSè  dëath^Idw  toXam 
•nce  Longworth' s  last  hope. 


t 


ïer  fM  , 

i  towar< 

ly  hcipe.  '^ 
ro  bring 
chance, 
etite,  so 

led  ge»- 

igworth 

le  coàld 
a  rule, 

to  staj 
lO  third 
le  eldei 
dashing 

i  tone. 
art  foi 

ï  dépth 


turn  tif" 


excuse 

left  sit- 
jundl)  * 


o.yr- 


>  » 


•^AFTRk  LONG  GHItF  4ND  PAllf-  45J 

xHX)l.  then  they  are  homeward  bound  on  the  wide  A-lantic^ 
oncen.ore.     No^  onéWd  is  spoken  on  the  subject  broaS 
on  that  n.g ht  .n  Rouai,  and  Reine's  face  and  nunner  teh 
aothing.     She  is  simply  quiet  and  thoughtful,  but  .Zl  "^^ 

tookmg  at  her,  feels  that  nô  n.atter  how  Longworth's  lov. 
»<&u-  may  go,  she  at  least  h^  not  labored  in  vain 

They  land  in  New  York,  ând  both  take  it  as  a  matter  cl 

course  that  Mr  Lc^ngworth  should  be  the  one  to  .neëtlL 

They  dnve  to  a  hôtel  together,  and  after  the  first  ten  minute' 

of  prehm.nao'greetmg  Miss  Hariott  starts  up,  déclares  sh^ 

^.  pensh^ng  for  a  privat.cup  of  tea  in  her  roon''.  and  is  gone 

Jr^r  ZT^"'^  '"^^  '^'""^'^  ^'  '"^^  '"-^<=hes  do,vn  a  long' 

rrh       \     ;'?^""*'^  ^""^  ^°  ^"  understanding  «^1 
w^h  niy  hands  of  theni  forevef  \"      ,  ë  ««^  i 

^Mr.  t-ongwôrth  at  least  is  making  thf  attendu.     He'has 

born,M.ss  Hanott's  W  présence  vvith Impatience,  an^l  h" 
jastant  she  goes  ,s  standing  by  Reine  holding  both  hoi  hands 
and  gaz,ng  down  at  her,  ail  his  heart  in  his  L^ 

"  Reme,"  he  says,  «  ani  I  forgiven  ?  '  , 

ben  kno"""^  hf"^  7"sieur.     Ah  !  now  gootï  yo»  h*,. 
And  Léonce-I  promised  hira.  .  I  hav.^-en  very  passion!^, 
xnd  proud   buthowcould  I  re.en.bcf  anything'S  1 
fnend  who  M  been  ^  good  to  mj-  brothe.  -  •' 
,  V  And  this  is  ail  !  -Longworth  says.  and  d,o,fc  her  hand.. 
*.^^alks  a.ayto  the  ^.k»o.,  stn,^.  to  the  heLt  ' 

V    rh^e  .s-  a  pause-la  moment  of  wistful  ind.,  i,fon.    Then      . 

tok^encf  wifely  love  and  subfliission.. .     '   * 


;_    '-Aud  laùrenc*.  Vau..  I  love  yo.^^  ielf  l  câ„ 
•et  roa  aot" 


% 


H 


jroaga 


V 


*. 'l^ 


Il  '♦ 


^  m 


.à' 


\. 


•1  -  .  <  .* 


T-tm 


4S4 


^  rORBGONP   CONCLUSMM. 


-  / 


W^ 


ii    r 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

A    rORKGONK    CONCLUSIOM. 

|ND  80  Longworth  and  Reine  are  married  I  "  exe  aiiu 
the  "gentle  reader."  looking  up.     "  Well,  we  k,.ev, 

wor^    and  h^  T''',  ^Î  /"^  "^'^  '""  "^  ^«^^^  ^^e  bride 

and^.ow  1     T     t  r""'^'  '"^  ^^"^  ^^^«  ^h«  bridemaids, 
and  how  they  looked,  and  who  «stood  up'  with  the  bride 
groom,  and  wl«re  they  went,  and  ail  about  it^ 
There  is  not  much  to  tell.     It  «ras  thc  simplest  of  wed- 

w  ::;d  th .  '?-^  t  ^^''^^'  °^  ^°"-'  »^"'  -^°  -"'« 

ovely      And  the  only  bndemaid  was  Miss  Hariott,  and  she  ' 
looked   stately  and   handsome.  and  very  happy.     As  to    he 
bndegroon,-but  .ho  ever  is  interestc/in  tLf  brideVlL 
Mr  O  Sulhvan  was  not  best  man-who  was,  does  not  matter 
Why  he  was  not  signifies  nothing  either.     There  was  the  pL 
««-«  was  impossible  to  be  absent  so  often  fro.n  the  post  of 

There  >vas  a  wedding  breakfast,  and  ^len^they  went  to 

(fer  .t  was  warm  weather  in  New  York  that  Au-n.st)  and 

pt       ç  1k    u    """^"^    ^^''^^  *"^   Montmore^ci,  and   the 
Plams  of  Abraham,  and  Wolfe's  grave,  and  were  ha  .py , 

M.SS  Hanott  went  ho.nc,  and  said  nothing  abou  it  and 
perhaps  that  was  the  n.ost  .onderfui  thing  of  ail.  S  quietlv 
«^^  .t  kept,  that  in  ail  liayn.outh  only  tfvo  peoplfknëlt 
>nd  one  of  thèse  two  was  Afil..  n-g..^.;,,,     f,^,,^  „^     .^~ 


torses,  or  yet  thu.nbscrews  could  not  luve  torn  il      --^ 
An.!  ,f  fdl  o„t.  somo  «ix  weeks  latcr,  that  Miss  Hiî&t 


ÉJÉLiiil 


•|    -. 


t-  - 


Â  roâtGONR   CONCLUSION. 


^ 


|»Te  a  party.  And  a  sélect  corapany  of  the  neaia  of  ;he 
crcam  of  Bayniouth  were  bidden  and  came,  for  this  lady 
despite  her  acsthetic  tendencies,  was  a  very  queen  of  host- 
esses.  And  the  little  rooms  were  well  filled,  and  \îiss  Marie 
I^andelle,  in  trailing  black  silk  and  jet  omaments,  looked  fair 
as  a  star,  and  white  as  a  lily,  and  cold  as  Anderson's  delusivc 
Ice  Maiden.  And  Mr.  Frank  Dcxter,  n'ewly  arrived  froii» 
"doing"  Europe  for  the  second  tinie,  bronzed  and  miis^ 
tàched,  much  improved  and  quieted  by  foreign  travel,  look- 
ing  tall  and  handsouie,  and  rathei  superb,  was  there,  but  he 
held  aloof  it  was  noticoi  frona  Miss  Landelle  the  whole  even 
bg. 

He  had  outgrown  that  old  folly,  Bayraouth  said  ;  the  di». 
grâce  of  her  sister  and  cousin— by  the  by,;  was  he  her  cous- 
in  ?— still  clung  to  her.  How  singularly^that  sister  had  van- 
ished  !  said  more  than  one  Bayraouthia^— for  ail  the  world 
as  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  her.  Still,  Mr. 
Miles  O'Sullivan  miglip  hâve  told  tàles,  itf>  doubt,  if  he 
chose  ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Longworth— and  hpV*  ladies  turn<k', 
with  a  smile,  to  their  Iioàtess— where  wat  JAx.  Longworth, 
ind  now  that  he  was  a  miUionaire,  was  he  ever  comirig  to 
Bayniouth  again  ?  .  »  , 

Miss  Hariott,  in  swecping  silks  thaï  beM^ne  her  yrell,  scar- 
iet  flowers  in  her  profuse  dark  hàir,  sroiled  As  she  listened,  a 
quizzical  and  rather  puzzling  -mik.  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Longwort!» 
was  coniing  back— she  expected  him  hère  to-night,  in  fact. 
Did  not  she'know  ?  Wliy,  he  arrived  this  Ivening  from  Can 
àda  by  train.  It  wiis  pa:tly  lo  welcorae  him,  and  that  he 
might  be  grected  by  many  familiar  faces,  sbe  had  invited  Ma 
firiends  on  thi<  o«  casion.  ^ 

A  sliglit  sensslion  went  through  the  rooms  at  thîs  unei 
?ectîd  announc  ement,  and  a  faint,  araused  smile  patsed  ovei 


-A»  4a€e  of  M  tfiti  1  .nntWhr  as  she  lÎKtcïïe^ 


Among  the  changes  thèse  raonths  had  wroujht,  or.e  of  tlit 
it  notable  was  that  which  had  nxade  this  young  Udy:4b)  ÏB 


^ 


'm 


J'k>f..v'i:-I,^;, 


4J6 


^  fOMtJÇHfM  COIfCtUSfOlf. 


r-'- •  ; r-  ' 

r 

TU 

(  ■ 

1 

«• 

■1 

«MMe  of  Mis»  Hariott'8  home,  and  a  pensioner  jf  Mis.  rf» 
totf  s  bounty.  For,  one  July  night,  sorae  three  «reeks  befet*. 
watgreat  and  gracions  lady,  Mrs.  Wi,  dsor,  had  closed  lier 
eyes  upon  ail  things  earthly,  and  had  gone  Torth  frora  thf 
Jtpne  House  m  gloomy  and  gorgeous  state,  to  return  no 
more. 

Two  d^  late,  and  the  reading  of  the  will  electrified  aU 
Bayinouth.  The  Stone  House,  liberally  endowed.  was  kft 
o  the  to«rn.  to  be  used  as  a  Home  fbr  Aged  Women  ;  there 
was  a  legacy  to  each  of  her  servants,  and  ihe  remainder,  an 
enomious  fortune,  to  a  distant  cousin,  a  hierchant  of  Boston. 
Neither  of  her  granddaughters  was  so  much  as  hamed  in  it. 
oor  her  fnend,  Mr.  Ixïngworth,  and  it  bore  date  but  a  fort, 
night  before  her  death.  ,     «" 

•K  \^!l^f^  ***  P*'''*P'  "'•g''*  hâve  beeri  contested  by 
the  lawfiil  heiresses,  but  one  of  thèse  young  persons  had  dis- 
«ppeared  from  mortal  ken,  and  ihe  mher  feit  little  disposition 
to  dispute  it     She  had  battled  in  vain,  her  efforts  to  securfc 
this  fortune  had  brought  nbthing  but  miseryupon  them  ^— 
It  was  rétribution,  and  she  bôwed  her  head  and  accepted  her 
fate.     Miss  Hariott  offered  her  a  home,  and  to  Miss  Hariott 
«he  went.    Othe*  homes  niight  hâve  been  hers,  were  proffered  * 
mdeed-but  that  was  j^npossible.    It  was  about  this  ti.ne  Mr. 
Frank  Dexter  retume^  from  forei|n  parts,  his  tour  of  raanf- 
years  resolving  itself^r^to  preci^ely  five  months.    That  hear- 
ingof  Dùrand's  death  from, Longworth 's  letters,  hé  shouldgo 
straight  to  Baymouth,  that  beiirp;  ir.  Baymouth  he  should,  ol 
:ourse,  visit  Miss  Hariott,  goes  without  saying.     <He  met 
Mane  seldom,  alone  never*  but  stiU  theydid  meet,  and  if  the 
young  lady  was  sjlent,  and  shrinkjng.  and  a  little  cold,  ail  that 
was  natural,  and—Durand  was  dead,  and  he  coyld  wait 

Mrs.  Lauia    Sheldon,    large,    niilk-white;.  blondç-haired, 
•weeUy  smiling,  came  late— after.MissHariotfs  announce 


Jttcnt-.._and  «o  did  not  *eftf  it.  -Nextto  Mlle,  t^ndetlè,  she" 
wai  the  preltiest  woman  thpre.    She  could  wear  green,  and 


,1 


1.» 


'■  1'^ 


..'Il*»  .. 


■»<■ 


1       . 


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an 


A  Ê^KBGOfTR    COlfCtUSÎON.  45; 

^e  It— pde-green  silk,  with  quantities  of  tulle,  pink  roseaJ 

."Tir!"  ?T*  ï  •**''  *"^  '^'^'''  She  was  late.  but  not 
thc  ktest  ;  half  an  hour  after,  there  was  a  moraentary  stir  and 
thnll  that  nm  like  electricity  from  room  to  room,aml  turning 
round  to  discover  the  cause,  she  found  herself  face  to  face 
mth  Laurence  Longworth.  For  six  months  she  had  not  seen 
Mm.  With  a  httle  exclamation,  so  glad  that  it  was  not  <o  be 
repressed,  she  tùrned  to  him,  her  eyes  kindling,^r  cheeki 
gtowing,  and  held  out  her  hand.  ▼ 

"  Oh,  Laurence  fwhat  a  surprise  thisis!    Howgladiam 
toseeyouagaini     I  began  to  think  you  had,deserted  us  for- 

*' M^uM^tjjuhave  nrinded rauch ^"  he said, laughing.  « Sc^ 
Mus  Hanott  IÎ3S  not  told  you  eith«r."         fc  **'«"°«-     î»»'^ 
,"Toldmewhat?" 

cho^'2"^?"^-    ^°'''^^"'^«'^»«>Wnk.Mn.SheMon 
chought— how  handsome,  how  happy  | 

■'Itwwnotthubotherdaynvmet}  1 

Hath time ud alMéic|Uiiglit thee to lat^A.^  . 

"Reme  LandeUe,-  she  raight  hâve  quoted. 

Ândti^lïîf-l*  T  ÏT  P««'^'«^o"»«r  to  refuse  tlu'sman? 
/^d  m  addition  to  ail,  he  watf  now  a  millionaire.  though  to 
do  tins  charm,ngyo^ng  widow  justice,  die  would  hâve  gon, 
"Tith  him  to  beggary.  ,  •  »  • 

'  Miss  H  Ws  tajte  for  ^rivate  theatrîcal,  will  never  b.     • 

•ffiur».     I  find  r  corne  among  you,  ahd  startle  you  as  niuch 

l^lZ"^       .  "^^'^  «"'''''•     ^^  '  ^"'  ^»  °"^  &ir  hostess 
o^w--^t  Biodem  myvd-a  woman  whb  a>n  keep  a  g.. 

.Ciet.ITl- „ i. _ —  .,      :.   .1.— ■: 1    ■ .., *  ....  — 


*k 


'\^^  »^o  n«ver  Indûlges  in  leco^id-hai^d  frynicism.  f  Mn, 
•  Bitldon-you  are  old  acquaintar.ce.,  I   k«ow-but  in  h« 


■  1^     "* 


V 


,  9 


,'f.    <•" 


451 


r  ' 


A  FOXÈGO/fM   CObfCLUStON. 


V 


'#t 


new  duracter  let  me  présent  yon  to  Mn.  Laurence  Long 
irorth." 

It  is  ihc  couf  iie  théâtre — whether  prepared  with  ;nalic( 
prepense,  who  sh«n  say  ?  And  tuming  round  I^auraSheldor- 
•ees  a  visûn  !  A  bride-Iîke.  figure  iiTtrained  white  silîc,  and 
deirdite  laces,  an«l  two  dark  upraised  eyes  she  has  pever 
thought  to  see  again.  It  is  Reine  Landelle;  Nay<j  Reine 
Longworth  surely,  for  Loftgworth  stands  beside  her,  and  looks 
ât  her  as  mcn  only  look  upon  what  is  tH^  apple  of  theii 
eye,  and  the  deligl^t  of  their  life.  ,It  is  Laurence  Longworth'» 
wifel 

Soœthing  of  what  she  feels  perhaps  is  in  her  face,  and  those 
sweet  dark  eyes  read  it.  Ail  small  animosities  fall  to  the 
\  ground,  and  Reine  holds  out  her  hand. 
,  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  ray  husband's  cousin  will  count 
nie  among  her  friends,"  she  says,  siniply.  And  then  she 
diops  Miss  Hariotf  s  arm.  and  takes  her  husband's,  and  turni 
tttbay.     ' 

One  last  glimpse.  ^^ 

An  interior.  Gas  Jets,  soflly  shaded,  pourihg  their  sub 
dued  light  ovet  Miss  Hariotf  s  parlor.  Mr.  Longworth  lyinj 
luxurioufily  bick  in  his  traditional  chair,  Miss  Hariott  neai 
him.  Miss  I  [anbtt  talks,  Mr.  Longworth  listens.  Mrs.  Long 
worth  sits  at  the  pîàno,  and  plays  an  exqin'sife  song,  without 
words,  fiîiint  and  sweet  aà  the  silvery  ripple  of  a  sunimer  brook. 
^er  husband's  eyes  are  upon  her,  while  his  ears  are  at  the 
lisiMsal  of  his  hostess. 

"So  the  heir  came  yesterday,"  coLùimes  Miss  Hariott, 
"and  «olrf  tl»e  Windsor  Mills,  l^t  g«.t  a  fabulous  price  foi 
fhem.     And  that  is  th  •  end  (/  Ine  Windsors." 

"Take  her  for  ail  in  ail,"  quotes  I<ongworth,  "we  ihall 
not  look  upon  her  Uke  again." 

'And  once  >«y  were  thr  heir,  l^arry.     Only  think  of  'à» 


murai  OMMge  j^  niO^io  fé«^  »  Brtiuiè  of  five  or  if 
oultioiul' 


Q- 


A   PORRGONE  CONCLVSTON 


*59 


•  And  aU  for  me,"  says  his  wife,  suddenly  rising,  and  stand 
:ng  behind  his  chair— "Lauren/,  mon  ami,  it  was  'ail  for  me. 
iras  it  not  ?     1  wonder  if  I  was  worth  it  ?" 

Mr.  Longwdrth  glances  yp  with  e>es  of  iazy  adoration. 

"Ail  for  you,  my  darlii^,  an^i  I  think  you  were  worth  ii. 
I  don't  know  what  the  iîi|rlce1  value  of  a  Little  Queen  may 
be,  but  I  should  sayher  price  .vas  above  rubies." 

A  pause— uncomfof  table  for  Miss  Hariott,  who  feels  that 
•he  is  playing  "  gooseberry."  Madame  Longworth  corne»  to 
the  rescue. 

"Singfpus,  Aforraw^/'she  says,  caressingly;  "I  havt 
not  heard  you  once  since  we  came,  and  it  is  a  night  for  sona 
andmusic."  * 


A  garden  scène.  A  night  lîke  a  great  crystal,  full  of  lim- 
did  moonlight,  soft  winds,  and  sparkling  stars.  A  lovely  lady 
«ts  m  a  garden-chair,  wrapped  in  a  fleecy  white  shawl,  hei 
perfect  face  upturned  to  the  radiant  night  sky.  Neâr  hei 
Btands  a  gentleman,  and  to  him/iot  a  star  in  ail  those  golder, 
clusters  is  half  so  fair  as  that  upraised  face.  They  are  sUent. 
listening  to  the  music  from  within. 

"  I  never  knew  your  sister  was  beautifiil  until  last  night, 
lays  Frank  Dexter,  ««  though  I  adnih-ed  her  always.     HappU 
Qess  is  aç  excellent  cosmetic    As  she  once  said  herself  of  love, 
•  It  ts  the  very  bçst  thing  i/T  ail  the  world.'     You  rcmembci' 
that  day,  Marie?" 

"  I  remember,"  she  answers,  softiy. 

Ard  then  there  is  silence  again.  Nothing  has  been  saià, 
oothmg  has  been  donc,  but  they  are  friends,  thèse  two  ;  and 
though  there  is  much  te  bemoumed  for  in  ihe  past,  one  doea 
ttot  mourr  torever,  and  one  can  hope  so  much  for  a  beautifth 


/ 


./' 


•ight  besidé  Marie  Durand,  does  not  despair,  th.)ugh  his  day 
«»F  bc  yef  afu  off.   Listening  to  the  song  tha^  cornes  througb 


.:vr 


4&> 


À  fOMÈGOlf»   tOf/CLVS/ON. 


Ae  -I>en  window,  he  knows  that  ail  life  holds  for  hia  h 
pftient  01  future  ia  in  the  words  Rester  Hariott  lings  r< 

"And  I  know  thmt  at  lut  my  melage 
Hu  puMd  throngh  the  GoId^Um*^ 
.      ^       8e  aiy  heart  is  no  longer  rettlo^ 
àaà  I  «■  content  te  waiL" 


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